Through The Wreckage
by Hephestus
Summary: A revelation regarding the fate of one of her closest friends drives Marceline to delve into her own past. Revisiting old scars and uncovering truths about her friends, her family, her world, and most importantly herself.
1. Chapter 1

THROUGH THE WRECKAGE

Chapter 1 Part 1: The Ominous Cloud

The cave was now quiet. The music that had reverberated off the walls had long gone silent, leaving only the ever-present dripping of condensation from the cave roof. It was a singular sound, the otherwise innocuous 'plip' of a droplet filtered and warped through the echo of its fellow droplets that had fallen before it. It's fragmentation and composure implied distance but its pitch screamed proximity; it was an unnerving sound, a _familiar_ sound.

A young-looking woman listlessly shuffled to one side of her living room and leaned her forehead against the wall, her raven-black hair completely obscuring her face. She turned around slowly, propping herself up against the wall, and stared out at the mess of paper scraps that lay in a pile on her living room floor. She had gathered them all together, pouring through them as she did, often stopping to futilely wipe the tears from her eyes. They were more than scraps of paper; they were the tattered and inexplicably damp remnants of a former life, now covered in messy scrawls of barely legible text.

Lyrics. They were covered in lyrics and very inane ones at that.

Not one hour had passed since the Ice King had flown into her cave, driven by some imbecilic notion of concocting serenades, and completely ruined her day over a scant ten-minute period; Simon had always been a very efficient man. A trait he retained even after all his other positive attributes had eroded away, leaving only the grinning lunatic she had just seen. This was by no means the first time he had shown up on her doorstep, utterly oblivious to their shared history, and she couldn't allow herself to believe that it would be the last. He was, after all, immortal like her.

She held a small picture out in front of her, it was worn and torn but the color was still bright and vivid. It was of a little girl that looked to be no more than ten. She wore a blue dress over a deep red shirt, her dark black hair stood out against her pale grey skin, the happy smile on her face broken only by the sharp tips of her fangs. The memory of that day brought fresh tears to her eyes.

"Oh, Simon…" she said lowly, sliding down the wall until her head rested between her knees. "All this time…I didn't know."

"Didn't know what, Marceline?" said a familiar voice.

Her head snapped up, in her doorway stood a human boy and a yellow dog. They were scanning the scene before them, barely concealed bemusement on their faces.

"Finn! Jake! What're you still doing here?" Marceline said, legitimately surprised that they had stayed…the _entire_ time. "Oh Glob! What did you see?!"

"Uhh…" Finn said, shooting Jake a nervous look. "Well, we were kinda gonna ask you the same thing just, y'know, differently. Like, replace '_you_' with '_we_' and '_see_' with '_what the math just went down in here?!_'" Finn paused, mulling over his response in his head. "Waitaminute…'_What did we what the math_–' that's no good…"

Jake lightly slapped the human boy on the arm. "I think what Finn's trying to say is '_What the donk was that all about?!_', right buddy?"

Finn nodded and gestured at Jake. "Pretty much."

"Right, sooooo…" Marceline said, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"What the donk was that all about?!" they said in unison.

Marceline sighed, looking at the picture in her hand. "We have a history, me and the Ice King, I met him when I was just a little girl."

"Before he put on the Ice Crown and went brain-jacked or after?" Finn asked.

"No he had the crown but…" Marceline locked the two of them in a withering red-eyed glare. "What?! You knew about that?!"

"Yep," Finn said, blithely unaware of the hole Marceline was trying to glare through his face.

"And you guys still keep beating him up?!" she exclaimed. "What. The! MATH! Finn!"

"Look," Jake said sternly. "He may have been a real nice guy or whatever, but he's still got mad mondo ice powers! He could really hurt someone, 'specially since he's a complete psycho…that…" Jake began to wilt under the seething glower Marceline had locked onto him.

She rolled her eyes in frustration, "Whatever, look, just…*sigh*…How did you even find out? It's not like he even knows who he is anymore."

"We found some vids," Finn said with a shrug. "He was burying them in a dump, muttering something about secrets. We figured he was planning something and dug 'em up and watched 'em. Turns out he was some guy named–"

"Simon Petrikov?" Marceline finished. "Why didn't you guys tell me?"

Fin scratched his head underneath his trademark hat. "We did."

"What?"

"Well, yeah," Jake said, nervously shuffling behind Finn. "Remember when we all got together and had hot chocolate and stuff? We were celebrating the fact that something actually made us feel bad for the _Ice King_."

"Yeah," Finn said. "We just figured that you didn't come inside because you really, really, really, _really_ didn't like the Ice King. We actually thought we'd have to save _him_ when we saw that he was coming here!"

"I just thought you guys were being a bunch of saps or something! Glob! You Good-Alignment types are so frustrating!" Marceline said with irritation.

Finn rushed forward, his hand outstretched. "Hey now Marcie, what's wrong? Ever since Ice King showed up you've been really down."

"Yeah, it got pretty heavy in here during the jam session," Jake said with genuine concern. "Wanna talk about it?"

Marceline blinked in surprise. "What."

"Yeah, what?" Finn agreed.

"Jay T. Dawgzone says that the best way to reconcile a painful experience is through healthy discourse with one or more trusted friends," Jake said explanatorily. "Direct quote."

"Jay T. Dawgzone?" Marceline said dubiously. "The '_Mind Games_' guy?"

Jake's eyes darted from side to side. "Y-yeah, well, he writes a lot of things! Bro's well-traveled!"

"I dunno, guys…" Marceline said softly. "This is, like, _super_ personal. I don't even like _thinking_ about that part of my life, talking about it might be…painful."

"We understand," Finn said, putting a hand on her shoulder. "But, math it, we hate to see a pal hurtin', you know? We gotta try and help! Part of that whole 'Good Alignment' thing."

She smiled and looked up at him, "You guys really were there the whole time, weren't you? You were worried about me…"

"Yep!" Jake said with a nod. "Not that we thought you needed help with the Ice King or anything, but we don't leave bros alone with nutbars on principle!"

Marceline sighed and looked out at the pile of tattered memories, a fresh pang of sorrow and helplessness coursed through her. Maybe she did want to talk about it, maybe she had wanted to talk about it to someone for centuries but couldn't; it was only recently that she actually had friends worthy of the story.

"Yeah, alright," Marceline said, patting the ground next to her. "Maybe it's about time I hash this biz out. Plant 'em, this may be a long one."

Jake and Finn smiled and sat down on the floor, Finn shimmied close to her and Jake morphed a lounge chair out of his body and sat on it.

Marceline cleared her throat and began, "I don't remember much from before the war, it's all pretty blurry. I remember my mom cleaning me up after I took a tumble, picnics and stuff like that, but I can't really picture many details. The one thing I remember clearly was when the bombs started falling. It was awful…everyone was panicking, running about and getting into shelters. There were riots, looting, martial law, doomsday cults roaming the streets…and…"

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"Warning! Warning! The L1–Channeler has been spotted moving up the east coast!" a military news announcement blared over the riotous racket. "All citizens are to report to designated shelters immediately. Repeat: All citizens are to report to shelters immediately!"

Marceline whimpered and hugged her legs even tighter, trying to become one with the cold tin of the drainpipe she had hidden in. One ear rang with the deranged screaming of the civilization outside burning itself alive; the high warbling of air raid sirens and the screams of the damned underscored by the low thudding concussions of artillery and Isomeric Bombs. It was a demented orchestra that scored the end of the world. The other ear knew only metallic silence haunted by the distorted 'plip' of water, the sound of cold dank darkness. She just wanted to disappear, to climb into the darkness at the end of the pipe and simply leave this place. She sobbed quietly to herself.

"…celine…"

Her ears perked; even over the howling of the city outside she could still hear a familiar voice.

"…arceline!"

She began to make tentative movements towards the mouth of the drainpipe, listening intently.

"Marceline! Marcie! Where are you?"

She gasped happily as she recognized that voice. "Hambo! In here!"

An older boy of about thirteen with shaggy flaxen hair and bright blue eyes appeared at the mouth of the pipe, a relieved smile on his winsome face, it was Hampton 'Hambo' Beauregard. "Marcie! I knew I saw you run over here! Thank–" *BOOOOOM* "Oh jeez! C'mon Marcie, I gotta get you to a shelter! My parents are in the shelter on Spalding Avenue, we'll look after you!"

Marceline shook her head. "Mommy says that those things are death traps! She told me to hide and stay still! We've got a special place to go to."

Hambo grunted as a tremor rolled through the ground and shook the pipe. He yelled in alarm and scurried inside as a main battle tank rolled off the road covering the pipe. It crashed down the incline, engine roaring as its tracks pulled it along.

"Are you okay Hambo?" Marceline asked once the tank had rolled on.

"Yeah…" he muttered, brushing debris from his shoulder. "What do you mean a 'special place'?"

"A cave up in the hills," Marceline said. "Mommy says that it goes deep enough to protect us from the dirty bombs and no-one knows about it! She's off ste –er–getting supplies from stores…and the army."

"Marcie that's crazy! There aren't any caves up there; I know, I've looked!" Hambo said curtly. "C'mon! If we stay out here when the I-Bombs drop we'll be cooked alive!"

"Mommy told me to stay, so I'm staying!" she said defiantly.

Hambo rolled his eyes and grabbed her by the elbow. He started to crawl out of the pipe, dragging a protesting Marceline with him. He clambered out of the pipe and pulled the struggling girl with him, she started pounding her tiny fists on his arm.

"Lemme go! Lemme go!" she shouted over the din of the panicked city.

"Marcie, stoppit!" Hambo grunted as small feet began colliding with his shins. "Ow! It's not safe out here!"

She lunged forward and sank her teeth into his hand. He cried out and withdrew, cradling the rapidly bruising mark. Marceline darted back towards the drainpipe when Hambo's arms shot out and grabbed her from behind, holding her arms against her body.

"Marceline!" he said sternly. "You've gotta get to a shelter! My dad says the Bug Bombs'll start falling soon, we gotta get inside before that happens!"

"It's not the Bug Bombs you need to worry about," said a voice from behind. "It's the L1–Channeler killing its way up the coast."

Hambo spun around to see a tall raven-haired woman straddling a supply-laden ATV; she lifted a pair of anti-flash goggles and locked her cobalt-blue eyes onto him. "See, unlike a bomb, that thing can just walk through a shelter door. When it gets here it'll kill every last one of you…_happily_."

"Muh-muh-Mrs. Abadeer…" Hambo said as Marceline rushed past him and into her mother's arms. "I just wanted to keep her safe, I wasn't sure you'd…"

"Come back?" she said flintily. "The bombs could have started falling when I was gathering supplies and I'd still have made it back here. Don't you ever underestimate a mother, Hambo, don't you ever. And you can call me Ruth, Hambo. End of the world, I'll allow some familiarity."

"Mommy?" Marceline said softly. "Can Hambo come with us? I don't want to leave him here."

Her expression softened, "I'm sorry Marcie but we just don't have the supplies, I could barely get enough for you and me. Besides…" she looked up at Hambo, softness all but absent. "I think he'd rather spend the time he has left with his family, right?"

"Yes ma'am…Ruth," Hambo said before he turned to leave.

Marceline rushed forwards and tugged on his shirt. "Hambo! Take this!" she said as she handed him a long gold necklace with a small heart ornament. "It'll keep you safe!"

He smiled gently and put in on, kneeling down to Marceline's level. "You stay safe Marcie. You survive! You hear me? You survive and we'll meet again!"

He leaned in and kissed her on the forehead and she hugged him tightly, a small tear rolling down her cheek. He then rose to his feet and ran up the incline, he looked down at the two of them, lingering for a moment, and ran off down the road. A battalion of tanks and fighting vehicles followed shortly after.

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The ATV raced through the back roads of the city, the main highways and road now clotted with the those desperate to flee and the half-frenzied soldiers trying to keep them in. Marceline could only get glimpses of the carnage from between buildings, but each one was an awful tableau in her young mind. Heavy weapons discharging into lines of occupied cars, tanks plowing through throngs of panicked civilians as they swarmed out of the city. Eventually she simply squeezed her eyes shut, the anti-flash goggles fitted snugly to her face made it seem all the more dark. The wind rushing by her head only mostly drowned out the awful screams and sharp reports of gunfire, each one that got through made her instinctively squeeze her mother's waist even tighter.

The ATV stopped behind a partially collapsed ruin of an apartment building. Ruth turned to face Marceline, signaling for her to hop of the vehicle, she did. Ruth swung her leg over the seat and dismounted.

"Marceline, I'm going to go look for a way out, don't move from the ATV. I'll be right back."

Marceline nodded and her mother darted around the corner, carefully scanning the surroundings for soldiers. As soon as she disappeared from sight Marceline got low to the ground and shuffled under the four-wheeled vehicle. That was when she heard it, a low buzzing sound like a swarm of angry bees. She looked out from under the ATV and up into the sky. She could see Dominion warplanes as they soared overhead, each one releasing dark black clouds of roiling insects: Bug Bombs. The sparrow-sized biomechanical weapons streaked towards the hapless city, each one carrying an isomeric warhead. The swarm touched down over the downtown area. Marceline felt a searing heat on her face as thousands of bright white dots shone through her flash goggles like tiny stars. Instinctively her hands shot up to her ears, her hands clapped against the solid plast-armor of her helmet as she curled into a ball. No sooner than she had a colossal staccato blast tore through the alley, dust and debris surged forwards as the blast wave passed. Marceline had squeezed her eyes shut and almost screamed when a pair of steely hands pulled her out from under the ATV.

"Marceline!" It was her mother. "Are you all right?"

Marceline blinked rapidly, she was too terrified to respond.

Her mother clicked her tongue in exacerbation. "I wish you hadn't given your protection charm to that boy! Marcie, hold still…I'm going to do something that may feel a little weird, but I want you to stay still, okay?"

Marceline nodded and tried to quiet her trembling body. Ruth raised her left pinkie finger to her mouth and bit down hard enough to draw blood. She drew a small rune on her daughter's forehead and then smudged it with her thumb while saying. "Defendes a periculo."

Marceline felt a strange fizzling sensation ripple across her body. "It…tickles."

Her mother gave a small tight-lipped smile; barely able to hide the agony that now wracked her body. "There, that should keep you safe."

"Are there any soldiers mommy?" Marceline said quietly. "Is it safe to leave?"

She picked Marceline up and sat her down on the vehicle, sitting with her in between her legs. "Leaving would be safer than staying. Hold on!"

The ATV's engine roared and the two streaked down the alley. The small vehicle drifted between buildings, the shockwaves of further explosions thudding into their bodies as the attack continued. A particularly close explosion sent a tremor through the block and sent an already compromised condo past its breaking point. The terrific sound of cracking concrete and rending rebar dominated the air as they rolled forwards. Marceline screamed and covered her head with her hands. In a series of movements almost too fast to see, Ruth nipped her left ring finger and wrote a glowing rune into the air. She crushed the glowing symbol in her hand and shot out her arm, now encased in a crimson aura.

"Dispello!" she shouted.

The building arrested its fall an instant before being completely obliterated by a blast of red energy; its pulverized remains hurtling out in the opposite direction.

Marceline felt something happen to her mother's breathing, it was becoming low and haggard. She looked up at her mother, her usually rich olive skin was now pale and ashen, a small rivulet of blood running down from her left nostril. "Mommy? Are you okay?"

"Shut up!" she snapped. "Keep your head down and keep quiet, I need to concentrate!"

Marceline whimpered and ducked her head.

The ATV crashed through a wooden fence; Marceline felt the sharp wooden splinters shatter themselves against the field that encapsulated her body. They raced across the yard of a freshly looted house, from her huddled position she could only see the former occupants for an instant, four pairs of dangling feet out the corner of her eye. Another impact as they plowed through another fence, but instead of another lawn they were now clambering up an unkempt grassy hill. They had made it to the outskirts of the city.

The ATV's engine groaned as it hoisted them up the hillside, its heavily treaded wheels tearing the dry grass from the exhausted soil. Marceline could hear the sharp coarse expletives spat out by her mother, as though her anger could motivate the machine to climb faster. A final lurch and the strained vehicle rolled over the lip of the ledge and rolled up onto a small dirt road. The ATV came to an abrupt halt and a final whispered curse slipped from her mother's lips.

"Marcie…" she said shakily. "Keep your head down, honey…"

Marceline's head shot up to look around, her eyes going wide at what she saw. For fifty meters on either side there were dozens of artillery pieces, scores of military vehicles, and hundreds of soldiers. Roughly twenty soldiers turned from their business and gawped at them for a moment before raising their assault rifles.

"What're you doing here?" the closest soldier shouted. "You're supposed to be in the shelters!"

"Please, just let us through!" her mother said plaintively. "Those shelters are death traps! The Lich will kill everyone who stays and you know it!"

"What did you say?!" a high-ranking officer shouted. "How did you know it was…Arrest her! Security breach!"

The other soldiers began to advance on the two, weapons drawn. Ruth began to raise her left hand to her mouth.

"Mommy! No!" Marceline begged, grabbing onto her wrist. "You'll get hurt if you do that again!"

She wrested her arm from her daughter's grip. "Quiet! We need a distraction if we're going to get away!"

"But–" the little girl began to say.

The soldiers grew closer with rifles raised when a soundless wave of sickly harlequin light washed over the landscape. Wherever the light touched plants wilted, colors dimmed, and people shuddered. Though bright as the nuclear heart of a fusion bomb the light was as cold and clawing as the bitterest winter gale. It felt as though life itself fled from whatever surface defiled by the light, leaving only a numb, oily sensation behind. The soldiers gawped at the terrible epicenter as it hovered over the city; their already haggard faces withered and grayed somewhat under the onslaught of awful magic. As the undead star above the city waned a single terrible figure could be seen at its center.

The Lich.

The officer from before was the first to regain his composure; he activated a number of targeting devices on his helmet and shouted into the receiver, "All guns, target sighted! It's the L1–Chaneller! Range oh–oh–two–point–five; aerial quadrant point–six; eighty-two degrees on Gun Twenty-Seven's position. All units fire!"

The closest gun to them turned and stabilized its solution, taking its target into its sights. There was a massive report as the gun fired, its barrel thrust backward from the force of the firing as a flash of smoke and fire belched from the muzzle. Over three-dozen similar blasts followed immediately after, each one hurling isomeric warheads at the relatively miniscule target. An agonizing second later and the air immediately around the dread being lit into enormous explosions that pulverized the city blocks beneath.

Ruth revved the ATV and shot off into the hills while the soldiers were distracted. The small vehicle tore up the dirt road, twisting and turning between stupefied soldiers, occasionally nearly getting flipped by the delayed blast waves of the distant detonations. As they sped along the road above the gun battery Ruth looked out at the city. Large sections of it were now leveled as bright white flashes popped like festive fireworks. Through her anti-flash goggles she could see C-Beams, glittering pillars of incandescent plasma, as they wrought terrible destruction on downtown and residential areas from their orbital platforms. The terrible beauty of the scene had almost distracted her from the orbs of green death lancing towards the gun battery not thirty meters away.

"Oh no," she muttered quietly.

The impact was muted and dull, sound died at its epicenter. The blast wave was akin to a roiling sheet of ice water as it picked up the ATV and its occupants and scattered them like motes of dust. The only sound from the display was the thunderous roars of the guns as they let off one last volley before wilting and evanescing, melted and vaporized by the heatless flame. The agonized screams of the soldiers caught in the terrible inferno were mercifully short, their bodies obliterated before they could fully express their suffering.

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Marceline groaned and stirred on the ground, even through the shield she had felt that impact. She was unharmed but her head felt terribly jumbled, like loose marbles were rolling around inside as they looked for their old slots. She shakily rose to her feet and removed her helmet. She looked around, where the artillery had been there were now smoldering wrecks of liquefied metal, barely discernible human corpses littered the ground around them. As a stray breeze pushed a column of smoke onto the hillside she steeled herself against the all-too-familiar stench of roasted flesh. But there was no smell, no cooked meat, no burning slag, not even the comforting smoky smell of burnt grass; no smells whatsoever. She looked down at the grass around her feet; the brownish-green blades were now gray as ash. She reached down and felt it; she hissed in surprise and drew her hand back, it was as cold as snow. She scanned the hillside; all the plants were gray and dead, even the flowers. A single flower stood within arms reach, it looked like one of those old pictures Marceline saw in their family photo book or on those artsy websites her mother hated…Mother!

"Mom!" Marceline called. "Mommy! Where are you?"

She desperately scanned the hillside, nothing was moving save for the billowing coils of smoke. Marceline knelt in the death-cold petrified grass, a sob beginning to form in her plaintive cries. "Mommy…"

'**_Marceline…_**' rumbled a voice in the back of her head.

She looked up, the voice had no origin outside her mind but the sensation inside her head directed her gaze towards the smoldering wreckage of the guns. Through the smoke and dust she could see two blazing pinpoints of green light hovering an inhuman height above the ground. The smoke parted revealing an enormous man clad in dark green garments, a gilded crown sat atop his head as a green flame flickered above it, two enormous horns jutting from the sides of his head. He was easily four meters tall and his bone colored skin was as desiccated and lifeless as parchment. His 'eyes' were merely two enormous sockets; empty caverns save for the glowing pupils peering out of the shadows within. His thin dry lips were pulled back from crooked teeth in a ghastly smirk. He raised a decayed arm; abuse of blasphemous magic had eroded away the flesh up to the elbow. He made a beckoning motion with his huge skeletal hand.

The deep commanding voice in Marceline's head sounded again, '**_Marceline…_****come.**'

The last word seemed to echo inside her head and slowly but surely she walked towards it. Part of her screamed at her to run away, to find a hole to hide in, to kill herself right there, to do _anything_ but approach that horrible twisted thing; but another part, a part that was like an ice-cold nail inside her brain, ordered her onwards. As she drew closer she noticed a catastrophic drop in temperature, like she had just walked into a freezer. The air was slowly setting around her like ice, a feeling similar to gelid needle points pushing into her flesh arresting her breathing and sending waves of shivers up and down her spine. The cold was unbearable. The world around her began to bleed away, evanescing like so much smoke, becoming a dark frigid abyss. All that was clear and distinct to her now was the cold, the terrible, terrible cold, and the dimly glowing being in front of her.

'**_Aren't you cold…Marceline?_**' he asked, the smile on his face seemed to be that of kindness.

"Y-yes…" the little girl whimpered quietly, she could feel her flesh stiffening as it froze solid. "I-I-I'm s-so c-cuh-cold."

As icy death crept through her skin and into her heart she could now see that the beast's smile was not only kind, but also _warm_, a beacon of warmth and heat in a deathly abyss.

He held out his arms as if inviting her for a loving embrace. '**_Come to me…Marceline. Aren't you cold?_**'

"Yes," she said numbly, shambling forward with her arms outstretched. "Please…Please, help me."

'**_Fret not, little one…_**' he rumbled, a sort of dark serenity in his voice. **_'…You will never again know cold, nor will you know hunger, or pain, or sorrow. You will never know the cruel joys of the world or its merciful agonies._**' Its hands became encased in poisonous green flames, dread energies coiled up its arms. '**_You will know peace…Marceline._**'

She was now but a few paces from the undead abomination, arms still outstretched for a hug. "Thank you."

"**Die.**"

Just as the blast of dire magic leapt from the Lich's hands a body hurled itself between the two of them. It was the girl's mother. A futile action he had witness a million times over from a million mothers protecting their spawn. She had leapt upon her child as though her frail body of meat and bone could protect her from the hellfire. He chuckled softly to himself, even though he had butchered millions he still took a unique satisfaction from 'playing' with his prey. The Lich turned to walk away; he had a city to kill after all…work, work, work…

Something stirred in the blasted crater.

He spun around to see the human woman clambering out of the crater, the little girl in her arms; there wasn't so much as a burn between them. He growled lowly and let loose another wave of demon's fire, the woman and child were consumed yet again, lost to his eyes amongst the roiling cloud of destructive magic. To his dismay the woman ran out the other side of the inferno, still clutching her child, still unharmed.

"**What?**" he muttered aloud.

The Lich moved to give chase when a familiar sound washed over the hillside. The droning buzz of rotary cannons drowned out the Lich's thoughts, he shook and shuddered as hundreds of armor piercing bullets smashed into his magical barriers. He spun around to see dozens of gunships hovering above him and still more tanks and soldiers approaching, guns trained and missiles primed.

He turned his head to see the mother running up the hillside, child in her arms. "**Hm.**"

The Lich silently launched himself at the swarm of irritating pests.

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Marceline's eyes fluttered open, a momentary panic overtook her ask she remembered the ordeal. She shuddered and rubbed her arms, fearing they had actually frozen solid. But she was warm now, cradled in her mother's arms as she run up the hillside. She looked up at her mother and gasped, alarmed by the greasy pallor her face had taken; rivulets of sweat rolled down her ashen face, her usually full red lips were now thin grey lines pulled into a tight grimace of pain. Her bright blue eyes peered out from a creased sweating brow, the pallor-darkened skin underneath them made her eyes stand out all the more, a steely look of determination burned in them. She sprinted up the hillside until she came upon a ridge at the base of a large outcropping of rock. Ruth stopped dead in her tracks, panting raggedly.

"Mommy?"

No reaction, not even blinking at the sound of her daughter's voice.

"Mommy!" she repeated.

Again, no reaction.

"MOMMY!"

Ruth blinked abruptly, snapping her gaze down to Marceline. Marceline carefully wrested herself from her mother's steely grip, setting both feet down on the ground. The sounds of screaming and explosions drew her attention, she looked out at the city and tears welled up in her eyes. Her home for her entire life was now wreathed in flame and smoke. The once tall proud buildings of downtown were blazing pillars of flame and shattered ruins of steel and concrete. The residential areas were either infernos belching greasy black corpse smoke or glowing swaths of molten slag. The skies were clear and no bombs were falling.

"The bombs have stopped falling," she murmured, still hearing the sharp blasts of explosions and the high senseless sounds of human suffering. "So where's the…"

She looked down at the base of the hill and gasped. Amidst the ruin of gunships and tanks stood an impossibly tall man; his hands radiated green energy while he tore through vehicle and soldier alike. Though too far away to discern actual features, an electric chill raced up Marceline's spine: he was looking at her.

'**…C͏̸o̵̶͘͝ḿ̧̧͜͞e̷̷͘͡ ͢͠t̴̨͢͞ò̴̕͜ ̶̶̴̕҉m͘͢e̸̸͘.̧͡ ̷̡…͏͢Ḉ̷͠o͘͟m̀̕ę͠ ̷͘͠͡t͘͠͏̷͘o̷̷͡ ̸͘m͞͏́ȩ̀͡͡,̶̀̀͞ ̴͘c͘͞h́͘͢͝i̷͟͏҉̴l̛̀͜d̶̢.̶̸̨͜͟ ̨̛͜͝…̶B̸̷̧͡͞ę̡͝ ̵̵̵̢f̸͘͢͡r̡̨̢̀͟e̷̡͜ę̷̵.̸͟͞͞,**' echoed inside her head.

She squeezed her eyes shut and backed away from the edge; she shuddered violently and looked around for her mother. She was on her hands and knees in front of the rock face, busily scribbling symbols and runes into the dry powdery dirt.

"Mommy!" she cried as she ran towards her. "Mommy, the Lich! He saw me! He's coming!" Marceline shuffled and bobbed in panic, her mother continued to scrawl into the dirt at the base of the rocky outcropping. "Mommy?"

Ruth placed a blood-soaked hand on the surface of the stone and hissed, "Qui latebat, revelatum est."

There was a sound of stone and earth shifting from deep within the mountain. The solid rock face fragmented and began to swirl like a vortex; the spinning mass of grinding rock receded into the mountainside, revealing a cave.

"Is that–" Marceline began to say when her mother grasped her shoulder, holding a bloodied hand to her face. She began to mutter arcane words as she ran a wet finger up and down Marceline's face, expertly drawing elaborate symbols and patterns in a matter of seconds.

"Marceline…" Ruth said, a pained hiss escaping her as she leaned forward. "Listen, I–"

Marceline looked down and almost screamed, a large shard of jagged metal was protruding from the right side of her mother's abdomen, dark clingy blood had already soaked most of her leg. "Mommy! You're hurt!"

She grimaced and shook her head; Marceline could tell she was trying not to tremble. "I'll be fine, honey. Please…please listen to me. I put a barrier on the opening of the cave; it'll be safe from the Lich in there. I need you to go into the cave–"

"No…"

Ruth continued uninterrupted, "–inside there's a pool with a special circle. I want you–"

Marceline shook her head. "No!"

"I want you to kneel in the circle and–"

"No!" she cried, tears running down her cheeks. "Come with me! Show me what to do! Please, I can't leave you out here!"

"I can't, the spell I cast on you earlier will let you go through the barrier. I can't cast one on myself."

"Then I'm not going!" Marceline shouted.

"Marceline!" she barked, her haggard face still as stern and commanding as ever. "You listen to me right now! You go into that cave, understand? You go into that cave and kneel next to the pool!" Marceline squeezed her eyes shut and looked away, only to have her mother's steely hand grasp her jaw and turn her back. "LISTEN! You kneel in the circle next to the pool and wash the symbols off your face! Got it?"

Marceline blinked mutely, Ruth leant in quickly, a soft look on her face. "Got it?"

She reluctantly nodded and her mother let go and leaned back. "Good. I need you to be strong, Marceline. I need you to be brave. If you die, then all of this will have been for nothing." She kissed her on the forehead and drew her into a tight hug. "Mommy loves you Marcie. Forever and always…"

Marceline sobbed and nodded, holding on tight to her mother. "I love you too, mommy…will I see you again?"

"…Of course," she lied. "Now get in the cave honey…he's here."

She felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, an arctic breeze wafted over her shoulders.

"Don't turn around until you're in the cave," she heard her mother say. "Go. Go now."

Marceline shut her eyes and ran towards the cave. As she crossed into the mouth of the crevice she felt a familiar fizzling sensation across her skin, another shield. She spun around to see the horrible creature looming over her mother, hands wreathed in luminous destructive energies.

He locked his gaze on her, a ghastly smirk spread across his features. "**Step out of the cave, child. Come and accept my gift.**"

Marceline picked up a small stone from the ground and hurled it at the monstrosity. "PISS OFF!"

The stone clacked harmlessly against the Lich's shin, prompting him to utter a cruel chuckle. Almost to fast for the eye to see the monster's arm was raised and a glowing blast of fire rocketed towards Marceline. She screamed and instinctively raised her hands to her face. The Lich's laugh trailed off as he watched his flames splash harmlessly against the shielded entrance, the little girl was unharmed yet again.

"Is that all you got?" the wounded woman in front of him sneered, getting his attention. "I'm not sure why, but I actually thought you'd be stronger than this."

The Lich growled quietly and glared down at her. "**Explain,** **hemomancer. I have fought thousands of your kind and not one has withstood my might.**"

"It's magic," she said dismissively. "I ain't gotta explain sh–"

The Lich unleashed a mighty blast of hellfire. The woman was totally engulfed in the razing green fire, the stone and dirt around her began to glow and run like hot tallow. "**Language.**"

"Mommy!" Marceline screamed.

The Lich smiled and pointed at the girl from across the blaze. "**Fret not, I'll be with you in moment.**"

A red pulse of energy lanced out of the inferno, catching the Lich square in the chest, pushing him back several meters. The Lich staggered for a moment before looking up at the source with an irritated look on his gaunt face.

"**What.**" he hissed.

Ruth walked out of the flames, the fire parting around her body. "A monster like you will never understand. A true magic user allows the energy to _flow_ through their body, to _let_ it work to their ends. Channelers like you _take_; you tear and force energy from the universe. Your kind are greedy, you'll never understand the power of selflessness, and you'll never defeat it."

The Lich silently hurled a ball of fire at her, hissing in anger as it broke over her like water. "**How? How are you protecting yourself?**"

She smiled, looking back at Marceline. "I'm not. Your magic simply cannot counteract mine."

He reached out and grabbed her by the neck, lifting her clear from the ground and brought her face-to-face. "**Then I shall take a more direct route.**"

Ruth felt the Lich's decayed hand begin to slowly crush her windpipe; she reached down and pressed her hand against her wound. "…Sanguis meus ad vitam…"

She reached up and smeared a bloody handprint across the Lich's mouth and cheek, the parchment-dry skin instantly turned charcoal black and began to smolder. The Lich cried out in surprise at this new sensation, it was unlike anything he'd ever known; it was pain. He stumbled backwards, his hand raised to his smoking face. The Lich growled in fury and threw the woman in his grasp at the rocks. Her body collided with the hard rocky surface with a sickening crunch, her entire lower body twisting in an unnatural direction. She slid down the rock face and collapsed in a heap at the mouth of the cave.

Marceline screamed and ran to her mother's side only to abruptly bounce off the magical field. She pounded futilely on the shield before kneeling down in front of her body. "Mommy…"

"Marcie…" Ruth croaked. "My brave little girl…"

"No…please, don't…" she sobbed.

"Marceline, the entrance to the cave will close soon," Ruth said, each breath was a long drawn out gurgle. "You'll be safe from the Lich…but you'll only survive if you do as I told you to."

"Go to the room with the p-pool," Marceline said shakily. "Kneel in the circle, a-a-and wash the blood off my face. Right?"

"That's right, Marcie." Ruth gave a warm smile and blinked slowly. "…I…lo…"

Her mother became very still.

"Mommy?" Marceline said quietly, tears flowing down her face.

An enraged scream drew her attention. The Lich approached the cave entrance; the entire area of skin covering his mouth and cheeks he had torn from his face gave him an impossibly grotesque appearance. "**Kuh-ki…Kill you…KILL YOU ALL!**"

He raised his hands above his head, roaring with effort as he marshaled energy for the attack. With a final grunt he threw his hands forwards and unleashed a huge wave of roiling green flame. Marceline numbly watched the blast as it streaked towards her, the instant the destructive magic touched her mother's body the view became that of a solid rock wall.

The entrance was closed.


	2. Chapter 2

THROUGH THE WRECKAGE

Chapter 2: Demons

A kettle shrieked as the water inside boiled away, a moment later it levitated off of the element and poured its steaming contents into an awaiting teapot. The leaves inside swirled and floated in the excited water, bleeding dark orange before settling down at the bottom.

"Tea'll be done in about three minutes, okay?" Marceline said to her guests. "D'you guys want anything with it? Sugar? Milk? Misc?"

"Misc?" Jake said wryly. "Bit a' the ol' ChaiPlus, Marcie?"

"Stow it ya nazz!" Marceline said with a smile. "Not a'front o' the malenky malchick."

Finn turned to Marceline with a huge grin on his youthful face. "Lemme get this straight. Your mom was the one that jacked up the Lich's face?"

Marceline nodded. "Left her mark on him, that's for sure."

"I'll say!" Jake said with a laugh. "Bet ol' tatter-face remembered that day every time he looked at a mirror!"

"That. Is. _So_! _Awesome_!" Finn said ecstatically. "Now I know where you get it from, Marceline. You probably take more after your mom than your dad, huh?"

Jake cleared his throat. "Hey yeah, about that. I've always been a bit fuzzy on this, were you a demon that then got turned into a vampire, or a half-demon/half-vampire?"

"Yes and no," she said, levitating the teapot, mugs, and biscuits into the living room. "I became a vampire later in life. But at this point in the story, I'm human…kind of."

"Kind of?" Finn said.

"It's…complicated." Marceline sipped her tea.

"I'll say," Finn mumbled. "Man…all that stuff that happened, that's pretty messed up. Your mom was really brave, wish I coulda met her."

"What does any of this have to do with the Ice King?" Jake said through a mouthful of cookies.

"Jake!" Finn scolded. "Marceline is spilling her guts for us! I bet she's just building up to it or something."

"Oh, like an expository narrative!" Jake said, spewing the odd crumb.

"Yeah…but don't call it that!" Finn said uncomfortably, looking around for phantom observers. "It's too meta."

Marceline sipped more of the red out of her tea and picked up a biscuit. "Look, if you really want to know what went down between me and Simon, you have to know what things were like back then, just how bad things were…and how _good_ he was." Marceline sank her fang into the red jam center of the biscuit, tossing it to Jake when finished. "Alright…where was I?"

"You were in a cave and your mom…" Finn said, pausing awkwardly. "You were in a cave."

"Right. Okay, so…"

––––––––––––––––––––

Marceline stared at the wall. It was too dark to see, but she knew every detail, every curve, and every contour of the granite wall that had separated her from her dying world. The blood on her face was dry, as were her tears. Her breath hung in the air like a cloud, the cave was freezing but in her state Marceline could only note this as a fact of the landscape, no feelings or sensations were registering within her. It was as though something had disappeared from inside her; the part of her that cared about the future had gone silent, leaving nothing behind. All that remained were her mother's orders.

She slowly rose to her feet and turned around to face the long tunnel of the cave, she could see nothing, a perfect abyss. A sort of autopilot took over as Marceline watched her body shamble down the pitch-black corridor; her mind was still leaning against the wall. Out of the darkness came a familiar sound, the sound of condensation distorted as its sound was bent back on itself by the cave walls. It was familiar. She continued into the darkness, almost feeling herself become one with it.

There was a light. It was dim, blue, and barely perceptible but it was there. Instinctively she shuffled faster. She squinted and groaned quietly as the light grew brighter and brighter, stinging her eyes and bringing her back into her body. She shuffled into a large ovoid space. Huge glittering stalactites hung from the ceiling overtop a large dark pool. The walls of the space were lined with what appeared to be glowing mushrooms, casting the space in a shadowless blue light. Marceline walked up to the edge of the pool, she could tell that it went down for quite a ways. Her trauma-distorted mind remembered reading something about how caves were basically the hollows where softer rock used to be, long since worn away by harsh and unyielding water. She coldly noted that she could relate. The fact that there was a semi-regular flow of water but relatively little flooding told her that this pool went down at least dozens of feet.

Marceline looked down, searching for her objective, on the far side of the pool was a large circle. Something about it seemed dimly familiar, like something seen in a dream, half forgotten but present nonetheless. She walked over to it and set a single foot inside, it was about a meter wide with arcane runes and ornate Latin symbols bordering a large hexagram. The instant her foot came into contact with the circle she felt a force pull her whole body inside. Once inside she knelt down and leaned over the water's surface. Despite the dim light she could clearly make out her reflection in the water. A haggard looking girl looked back at her, her normally bright blue eyes were dull and listless, gazing off into some imagined point in the mid-distance; her face was covered with corresponding runes and patterns to the circle on the floor. Marceline sighed and stuck her hands into the ice-cold water, her numbed mind and body hardly even noticed. She cupped her hands and lifted a handful of clear cold water up to her face; on impulse she sipped some of it. A spark of energy surged through her, she was parched; she immediately quaffed the water in her hands, it was clean and clear and cold. Cold! She could feel it in the air and on her hands; it was so cold it almost hurt. She gasped aloud and scooped up more water, sucking it down her terror-dried throat with relish. The frigid liquid imbued her body with sensation once more. It was delicious, the sweet and alluring flavor of sustenance. She felt an indescribable feeling well up within her, a wave of power and energy. She was _alive_!

She once again noticed the ornate patterns drawn in dried blood on her face. "Ew."

Marceline lowered her face down to the water and began to scrub the clotted mess from her face, the cold water made her gasp. She rubbed the water on her face until she could no longer feel the blood on her skin; a final slash of water rinsed off the residue. She exhaled contentedly, the cold air prickling her wet skin. She sat back and looked around at the room, save for the entrance there was no other way in or out of the cavern.

"'Spose I'll have to swim my way out? I wonder how far down it…" she muttered, slowly turning back to the pool, her eyes went wide. "…Goes?"

The water was moving in the center, slowly but surely it began to rotate. The water nearest her was becoming a deep dark red and was spreading out, eventually getting caught in the spiraling center. Marceline could see the dark coil spiral down into the depths of the pool, resembling a drill in form and motion. She lost sight of the tip as it crept down into the deeper darker water.

Marceline watched and waited for a few agonizing second. "Well…that was wei–"

A flash of light burst from deep within the pool, she could see a bright spiraling light climb its way back up from the depths. The trail of red was becoming a glowing crimson ribbon as it raced upwards, eventually reaching the surface and set the surface alight. Marceline exclaimed in surprise as the circle began to glow, a dim keening noise arose from the sub-audible. The pool began to whirl around, creating a frothing vortex of glowing red light. As it spun faster and faster the center dropped further and further, eventually reaching the bottom six meters down. Marceline cautiously looked out over the edge, she could see a similar pattern to the one in her circle at the bottom of the pool. The hexagram began to glow white hot, the rock melting and bubbling as it did. Marceline felt heat radiating up from the earth as the melting rock parted, revealing a portal. Inside it she could see huge mountains covered in flame as eerie howls and screams echoed in the cave. Suddenly a figure appeared, a writhing mass of shapes and forms that actually hurt to comprehend began to force its way through the window. As it did the eldritch and maddening geometries condensed to form a humanoid shape. In a movement as abrupt and unnatural as possible the figure looked up, its large eyes were needle-thin slivers of blood red set against dull green saucers.

Marceline snapped out of her fear-induced paralysis and scrambled away from the pool. She ducked behind an outcropping of stalagmites and hugged her knees, trying to silence her terrified gasping.

A voice rang up from the vortex. "Don't think I didn't see you up there!"

Marceline blinked in confusion, it didn't sound like a monster at all, it had an amicably even-toned voice; the kind of voice a sitcom father or friendly uncle would have.

"Blob it! Blob it blob it blob it!" the voice said as it rose out of the pit, despite the language it still sounded mildly irritated at worst. "I thought I made myself exceedingly clear last time that I didn't want to be disturbed during the apocalypse! Do you have any idea what it's like in the Nightosphere right now? Oh, and if any of you wise guys say 'chaotic', I'll kill you. There won't be anything wacky or madcap about it, just *thwip* dead. You get it?

"A billion souls in three hours! A billion souls to register, to allocate, to torment! So. Much. Bloody. _Paperwork_! Not to mention every Tom, Dick, and Harry with a high-capacity phylactery skimming the numbers to try take over the place! And don't even get me started on the bureaucrats! So you guys had better have a pretty damn good reason to call me up here or I'm gonna floss my teeth with your tendons and lace my boots with your entrails!"

Marceline whimpered and closed her eyes, trying to squeeze herself into a ball. The cave was completely silent save for the tap of two heavily booted soles contacting the ground.

"Huh," the monster said, the irritation in its voice replaced with bemusement. "Hello? Anybody home? Usually there's a big procession of bloodstained monks and virgin sacrifices at these little get-togethers. Really! This is just terrible, no chanting, no fires, not even an eviscerated goat! What is this, baby's first summoning? Hold on…*sniff-sniff* No…it can't be…"

Marceline squeezed her eyes shut and trembled, the sound of booted footfalls echoing through the chamber as it grew closer, and closer, and closer.

Silence.

A pair of hands bent over the stalagmites and grasped her firmly underneath the armpits. Marceline screamed in alarm as she was rapidly hoisted up and over the mineral spikes. She braced for the monster to sink its horrible teeth into her flesh, or snap her neck, or–

Her face was pushed against a warm chest as arms gently wrapped around her, a hug. She opened her eyes and looked up, the 'creature' was simply a man in a dark black suit. He had a tall pleasingly gaunt face with pronounced cheekbones and his onyx black hair was slicked back and neat. There were some oddities, his eyes were very large and had green sclera surrounding red slit pupils, his ears were long and pointed, and his skin was a strange purplish-blue hue; but he was still clearly identifiable as a person.

He looked down at her and smiled, revealing several long sharp teeth. "Marceline! Oh, it's so good to see you! Here, lemme look at you!"

He set her down and knelt, his joints bending in bizarre and unnatural places as he did. "Look at how big you've gotten! And cute as a button, too! I remember when you were just a little critter, crawling around looking for new and interesting things to put in your mouth or for flies to dismember! Such promise! And is that a Chaotic Neutral aura I see? Atta girl!"

"Uh…" she muttered.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he said with a genial chuckle. "I ramble sometimes, I just get excited when I get to see my little girl!"

"What?!" she said suddenly. "I'm your _what_?"

He blinked in surprise, eyes shifting around. "Oh! Sorry, I just assumed that you knew, what with the summoning set up and all. Ahhh…this is awkward." He fidgeted for a moment before abruptly extending his hand to her. "Hey Marcie! My name is Hunson Abadeer and I'm your dad! …Yay?"

Marceline stared at him, her eyes wide and facial expression blank.

Hunson chuckled nervously and looked around. "Heh…Uh…I thought Ruth–er–your mother would have gone through this with you. Actually, where is she?"

"Outside," Marceline said quietly, internally stunned at how little she felt regarding the subject.

Hunson shot her a confused look and opened his mouth to say something before catching on. "Oh. Oh dear, she's dead?"

Marceline nodded and muttered, "She fought the Lich. I'm here because of her."

Hunson sighed and sat down next to her. "I've been preparing for this for a long time, her being mortal and all…still hurts though."

"How did you guys meet?" she said with a small smile, hoping that hearing about her mother would help her feel something again. "Was it romantic?"

Hunson laughed heartily and nodded. "And. _How_! I can still remember it clear as an imp's tears. Her coven had gotten together to perform a 'sacred ritual' to celebrate magic's return to this plane or some such, an interdimensional kegger basically. The Party God and 4–Gs were inciting a mosh pit and Ol' Honest Abe and the Cosmic Owl were huffing stardust and waxing philosophical. I tell ya, they blew some minds that night…I'm serious, heads exploded." Hunson sighed and rested his head on his hand. "And that's when I saw her, the best of the lot! The way her eyes sparkled in the light from the sacrificial pyre, the fresh goat's blood on her cheek, and her finesse with an athame. She enchanted me without casting a single spell…and even in those unflattering robes she had this really firm, well-rounded…personality."

Marceline sighed, that hollow space in her heart wasn't budging. She couldn't even bring herself to feel terrible for not mourning her own mother's death. "So…what does that make me?"

Hunson rubbed the back of his head and made an unsure gesture. "Complicated. See, if you were born a demon you'd have to live in the Nightosphere with me and your mother would never see you again, and you wouldn't have been accepted in _either_ world as a hybrid. So she cut deals with the right deities and had your demonic side shunted off into a bubble of desynchronized space-time while your other half interacts here, human to anyone that cared to look. So you're a human, but also a demon, but also neither. Schrödinger's hellspawn, if you will."

Marceline looked at her hands, numbly noting that her entire life had been a lie. "Was she ever going to tell me?"

"She probably would have told you once you were old enough to become a Blood Witch, let you decide what and where you wanted to be," Hunson said patting her on the back. "And then the world ended, messing up _everyone's_ plans. I should be at the 19th Hole with Abe on Mars right now, but no, you mortals had to start throwing bombs at each other!"

"So…what now?" she muttered. "I think mom set up this whole thing so I'd meet you. Drew up all the symbols and made all the preparations ahead of time."

"Sounds like her," Hunson said with a sigh. "Either way, I imagine she'd want for me to quantum lock you in your demonic form and take you to the Nightosphere, away from all this doomsday business."

"Are you?"

He cleared his throat and made another unsure gesture. "Well…that may be difficult. See, the Nightosphere's in a bit of a state at the moment. This huge influx of souls and whatnot means that it has become very easy for relatively minor entities to become far more powerful. It just wouldn't be safe for you there, for a number of reasons."

"Like what?" she said.

Hunson sighed and began to count. "One: people down there are evil for fun, if they knew I had someone who was close to me they could use you for leverage. Two: you're from a very old and very powerful family of archdemons, and your innate abilities and current vulnerability would make you a very tempting target for those wanting to control such power. There are any numbers of artifacts or amulets that, when simply placed upon someone of our bloodline, would make them into a nigh-unstoppable abomination. So there's that."

"Oh," she said flatly. "So, you're not going to take me with you?"

"'Fraid not, kiddo!" he said and an apologetic smile. "But I'll tell you what, that world out there is a rough one and you'll need every edge you can get, so I'll make you into a demon. You'll be stronger and tougher than almost anyone here; radiation and poisons will have little effect on you, ditto cold, heat, small caliber firearms, and most shades of mauve. Once I get all this stuff with the Nightosphere sorted out, you can come back and rule at my side! How's that sound?"

"Better'n nothing I guess," she said flatly, again unable to muster an emotional response.

"Aloofness! You're already getting into the swing of things!" Hunson said with a laugh. "Now, to transform you into a demon. Word of warning, this is going to be the most horrifically painful thing you'll ever feel."

Marceline tensed and leaned away. "Really?"

"Phsst! No." He pressed her nose with his talon. "Boop! And then Marcie was a demon."

Marceline felt a sensation she could only describe as a full body blink, as though she had suddenly folded in on herself and snapped back open in an instant. She winced, the light seemed much brighter than normal and a sharp scent hung in the air, an acrid but strangely appetizing odor.

"What is that?" she said, sniffing the air. "Smells…good, like, _food_ good."

"Well, that's you," Hunson said with a small chuckle. "The old you, the human you…lemme tell ya, they taste even better than they smell!"

"Ewww…" she consciously swallowed the hungry saliva in her mouth.

Hunson laughed affectionately and patted her on the head. "Oh, this whole 'evil' thing isn't so bad once you get used to it. Don't worry kiddo; I'll be able to at least give you the ol' Facts'o'Life Demon Edition™ before I turn you loose. Who knows, maybe this whole thing'll be a character building exercise! Get you ready for the Nightosphere!"

A hideous noise pierced the air, echoing through the cave; the sound was multifaceted in its awfulness, a wet screeching permeated the background as overtones of reverberating eldritch bellows rumbled throughout. Marceline thought that's what the world outside would sound like if heard all at once, something huge and terrified burning to death.

"Tch! These ringtones nowadays are so obnoxious!" her father said as he fiddled with a cell phone. "…I've been trying to get _Cat Party_ on here, but customer service in the Nightosphere is just _awful_. Yes? Hello? Oh, hey Piper-Mentha Promus, how're you–what? Slow down–No, I…he **_what_**?! Awwwww g̳̰͎̼͈̭̥̩͚̘͔̙̭̹̞͒͆̎͒̐͑͂ͦͣ͆͆̏̀͜͟ỏ͑ͦͤ̄̇ͪ̾̇ͪ̇ͫ͂͑̋͒̔ͯ̉҉҉̡̻̪̲̺̙̲̥͖̗͜ś͉̲͇̫͎̠͉͑ͫͯ̂̔ͫ̎ͭͯ̚͜͠h̆ͮ̅͊̋̏́̅ͮͣ̂̐ͫͭ͗̄̄ͫ҉̶̥̱̝͈̰̖̞̬͙̯͓̱̻͈̥͎̯͔̀-̯͉̯͕̤̜͖̞̦̘͔̱̯̗͈̹͌ͨ̿̀ͨͨ̐͛͒͑͛ͮͧͭ̿͆̉̂͘͘dͫͫ̈ͮͥ̄͑̆̈ͨ̓̑ͮ̋̾̚̕͏̩̭͎̼͕͙̪̺̪̫̞͍̣͚̘̭̹́͞â̴̮̜͈͚̈́̾ͧ́̍͗͋ņ̴̮̙̫̲̟̘͖̗͒̈́͑̌̄͗ͨ̔̾̂g̵̲̣͓̻̗̺͙͕̝̗̞͇ͧ͋ͦ̊̾͐̅̒̈ͪͥͨͦͣ̿͌͜͟͢͠ͅͅȋ̷̧̖̞̥̥̯̤̙̲̠̙̻̱̰̹ͫͧͮ̾̃ͥ͆ͫͦ̋̍͆̐̿̾͒̋̚̕͡t̝̳̱̦͉̠̣͙̩̟͍͇̭̞̯̯͈͎ͩ̑̑́͝͝ ̷̢͓̱̼͖̹͓̭̮̖̥̤̅͒ͥ̿͟͞͡ṯ̗̳̫̘̲͉͉͓͙͎̰̥̱͛̌͆̍͗̈ͫ̂̀̃́́͠͡ͅơ̵̙̟͓͈̞̘̜̹̝̞̟̆͌ͧͨ̽̾͑̃ͮ̉ͣ͛̐̓ͮ͘͡ ̸̩̬͉̘̦̪̪̞̻͌̈́̄ͥͅͅh͖̣͕̳̼̘̘͕̲̬̰̯̞͇͆̀̄ͤ̆̅͂ͪ̑̔̓̒́ͨ̅ͩ̅͡͞ĕ͕͍͙̬̟̝̥̬̙̤̳̂ͣ̓̑̚͢͡͡͡c̷̷̡̠͕̲̦̰̣̻̘̤̤̝̞̖̖̈̊̄̊́ͧ̾̓̊ͪ̔̎͝k̵͓̭̺͕̲̝͂͛̓̊͗ͪ̓̑̾ͪ̍͡! That low down, no good s̫͕͚̣͓͙̯̺̦̥̜̠͖̼̼ͩͤ́̇̏͊̂̍̓͛̓̄ỏ̯̳̖̜̝̪̙̰̼̜̓͂͛͗̾ͬͫ̈́̓ͯ̉̎͛̃̍-̫̬̠̩͖̟̺̱̘̜͔̲͕͉̳̭̱̗̾ͧ̓͋̍͑̉̍̏ͪͨͪ̈́ͨ̆͗ͣ̚ā̩̹̖͙̮̹̖̣̍͗ͦ̽͆̔ͬ̽̎ͩn͎̥͇͔͍̳̣͉͉̱̤̮̩̬̑ͫ̾͛̽͑ͦ̏̃͛̓̈̄̐̆͆ḋ̫̘̲̫̞̰̹̲̖͇̯̗͍̩͇͓͂ͤ̆̂̃͑ͧ-̣̙͍̙̟̦̝̞͖̲̜̰͙͖̦̳̺̙̟͗̎ͧ̉̓ͯ̅́͆s̼̰͓̹͑ͧ̆ͮ̓̓͑̃͋̒͐o͉̞͈̭̮͔̬͖̣̗̼͍̖ͮ̾ͤ̃ͯͥ̓̉̍̍ͯ̒! [Pardon my Lovecraft, Marcie.] Well, what are you doing about it? …What, do I have to come down there myself? …This is a bad time; I'm attending to family matters here! I don't care if he he's stolen the Necronomicon itself…He has?! What do I pay you people for?!...No, you idiot, I don't actually _pay_ anyone, I was making a point: I'm in charge for a reason!" Hunson took a deep breath and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "…I'll be right there, just…just don't let him kick up a freestyle rap or anything, okay? 'Kay…yeah. Uh-huh…kay-bye."

"That sounded important," Marceline said flatly.

Hunson inhaled through his teeth as he closed his phone and put it back in his pocket. "Yeeeeeeah…some shoggoth from middle management thought it'd be a swell idea to use the excess souls to resurrect the sleeping Great Old Ones. My old man would be breathing down my neck again…ugh! I need that like a Shub-Niggurath needs another kid."

"Sooooo…." she said expectantly.

"Don't worry Marcie!" Hunson said with a dismissive gesture. "It'll take more than that to get me to leave you without the proper preparations! Lesson one: magic: as a demon you–" his phone spewed out another slightly less hideous sound. "Heh…text from Pip-Men Pro…oh…uh-oh…aw shhẖ̙͖͐ͤh̶͙̦̲͈̣͈͑̿͌͋͊̊̕ì̡̢̺̬̦͖̻̆ͣ͂̉ͧͪ̑̉ͥ̂̔͞͝s̵̸͕̹̪̻̍ͧ̐̿̈́ͫ̃ͫ̋́̔ͩͣͭ̃̇̽̆͡͝h̛̤̯̱̻̳̹̯̯̹͈̥̫̝̻̱̓͛ͤͤ̄̓̿ͫͮ̓ͯͯ̕̕ͅͅͅͅ-̥͍̩̱͎̻̤͓͔̘͗̍̇͜͠k̲̗̹͔̗̻̯̺̯̻̘̳͈̼̗̰̥͂̌̉̎͟͢ȃ̓͐ͩ̽ͫ̄͗҉̸̧͙̹͕̙͓̳͙̖̪͈̹̱͎̺̬̮̳͜ͅbͭ̂͋́̊ͩ͏̘̲͙̭̠̹̬̺̩͇̻̦͕̘̤͕̖̯͢͞͡o̴̴̧̧̼͉̲̬̿̋ͫ̂ͮͭ͐́̃̓̇͑ͯ̾͜b̷͖͖̜̜̘̺̩̣̩͎̜͍̬̝͖͉̱ͣͩ̊̒ͬ̀̇̎̈́͝ ̃ͩͩ̋̓͆̆͌̅̒̌̆͑̉͛ͤ͐̌҉҉̨̱͇̖̰̝͚̰͓́! This is bad…"

"How bad?"

"Cliffnotes bad," Hunson said, gesturing at the pool causing it to abruptly form another portal. "Alright, gotta make this quick. As far as magic goes I'm afraid I'm going to have to skip…well…pretty much all of it. Don't worry about though; you're an Abadeer, so magic should be almost instinctive for you.

"Food'n'water: Your chemical energy is now just a catalyst for your demonic powers, so you'll be able to do more for less. You'll still have to eat about as often as you used to. You'll need to drink water about as often as you used to as well.

"Powers: You're strong, you're tough, and you have the constitution of a brass eagle. You'll be fine so far as poison, sickness, or radiation goes.

"Vulnerabilities: really, all you need to know is this: keep your head on your shoulders and protect your heart, other than that you should be fine."

"But–" Marceline began to say.

"Sorry Marcie, I have to go! Summon me again in about, oh say, five years. Everything should be fine by then."

"I don't know how to summon you!" she shouted over the din of the portal. "Tell me how!"

"Can't!" Hunson said as he made his way over to the portal. "Only someone from this realm can tell you how. I'm sorry, but those are the rules. Don't worry, you're my daughter, under different circumstances _you'd_ be heralding the apocalypse! You'll be instinctively drawn to those who can help you, trust in yourself!"

Marceline growled in frustration, initially surprise that she could make such a sound. "How do I get out of here?!"

"Just go to the entrance and say 'aperto ostio'." Hunson stood on the edge of the pool and turned back to her. "Marceline, you'll be fine. I know you'll do well. G'bye!"

He leapt into the portal and the cave filled with bright white light. The sound was gone along with the portal, leaving only the faint scent of ozone as a reminder of what had happened.

"Shi–"

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The blistered hillside fractured and churned, a vortex of shattered stone revealed a little girl looking out at the world from the mouth of a cave. She was young looking, perhaps no more than ten, and her short-cut raven hair was slightly tussled. Her skin was gray, the color of exhausted ash in a long dead fire, but the richness of the hue and the depth of her pallor suggested no illness or malady. Her large wide-set eyes were an almost alarming shade of red and the tiny pinpoints of her newly acquired fangs broke the thin gray line that was her mouth. She looked out at the massacred landscape, her new eyes could see as clearly the brightest day but she could still tell that it was dark out. Smoke and ash from the murdered city had blotted out the sun; the sky was a churning mass of black and grey that looked far too heavy to stay up. Her now-sensitive nose examined the air; it detected deathly sterile chemical smoke, the aggressive sharp smell of roasted flesh, and the heavy but understated fetor of putrefaction. All added to the ghastly miasma of a dead world.

She walked out of the cave mouth, wincing as it abruptly snapped shut. She looked down at the base of the rock wall; it had been melted and blasted, a skin of shiny black obsidian had formed when the Lich had unleashed his final attack. Her eyes could see the glowing outline of a carved symbol. She instinctively knew that the aura of magic would not dissipate for years to come, allowing her to retrace it should she have to. She looked down at the ground; the area immediately around her was rippled and dusty glass, yet another indicator of the Lich's fury. Farther out she could see that the formerly petrified grass had since been burned by some fantastic heat, leaving only a dark residue on the sterile dirt.

There had been an explosion, and a very large one at that. Had it been the Lich? She knew, somehow, that the Lich would not perform such large-scale destruction, preferring instead to butcher a population and resurrect their bodies. This kind destruction was far too wanton and frenzied; it wasn't the icy and calculating machinations of the Lich. She knew it had been a bomb, but what kind? An Isomer-Fusion bomb could have done this cleanly, but the taste in the air, the faint prickling sensation at the back of her eyes; her demonic senses told her that something had badly irradiated the landscape. A thermonuclear weapon, no doubt a panicked final option or some attempt at poisoning the well. She looked out at the former city; a testament to the engineers, many of the buildings that had not been flattened by the preliminary assault still retained the vague outlines of their former selves. Much of the fires had died down and the molten patches long since cooled, the former city looked more like a forest of petrified alien trees, twisted and deformed by some terrible cataclysm. The only fires that remained were those perched atop warped skyscrapers, likely caused by lightning strikes. She saw no signs of life.

Marceline shrugged and walked towards the city, noting that she probably would have received a fatal dose of radiation by now had she not been changed. She stopped and turned back, looking at the base of the scorched rock, in a way it was her mother's grave.

"Thanks mommy," she muttered numbly. "When I can cry again, it'll be for you."

––––––––––––––––––––

She clambered over a heap of concrete and rebar, lost in her own thoughts. She was walking through the part of the city that had been closest to the epicenter of the blast; as such it was mostly piles of concrete and warped steel, with the odd immolated car strewn amidst the grey landscape. The mangled wreckage of buildings and cars made for interesting obstacles for her to effortlessly maneuver around. Her new body was fast and light, she felt as though everything around her had become softer and less substantial like cardboard or papier-mache. She hopped down from a fallen pillar, bouncing off a scorched car and setting on the ground elegantly. She looked at the car, raising her hand to touch it, noting that it was still somewhat warm. She drew her hand back and formed a fist and, with a small grunt, punched a small hole into the thin steel siding. She hissed and drew her hand back, the skin on her middle knuckle had torn and sloughed away from the impact and blood was trickling down her finger. She watched intently as the flap of flesh swung shut and knit itself back into her skin, the small amount of blood crawling backwards as it returned to her body.

"Cool…" she said with a smirk.

As she walked she began to notice that there were more and more bodies visible. At first they were simply lumps of carbon-black charcoal, flash-burnt crisps a far cry from their former shapes. But, the further away from the blast center she walked, the more recognizable the bodies became. They were everywhere. Hardly surprising considering the panic she had observed on her way out of the city, all of those huddled masses could well have been caught in the open when the bomb flash hit. Charred to desiccated husks and then thrown about by the blast wave like leaves in a stiff wind.

She walked by what appeared to be four soldiers sitting in a circle in the lee of a wreck tank; its bulk that had prevented them from being obliterated by the blast wave did little for the star-hot air that would have followed. Their guns were warped and misshapen by the immense heat, drooping as they all rested on their owner's laps. The soldiers sat around facing one another, a badly burned helmet in the center. They must have been tossing cards or something like that, their game rudely interrupted by a small star exploding 300 meters to their right.

She continued on.

The bodies were becoming increasingly more human-looking, no longer the grey-black dolls that had littered the streets like toys left by a careless child. Some had their final screams frozen to their features, some were cowering, and more still simply had a look of dumb shock on their now still faces. Marceline noticed a small red can of soup on the ground, it stood out and almost shone to her demon eyes amongst the black and gray and brown of the landscape. She picked it up and examined it; the label read 'potato-vegetable-lentil' and the cartoon figure on the front spoke of superior nutrient content. She knew it had to have come from somewhere, her demon eyes could see a clear rolling path through the rubble and ash. Marceline followed it to a relatively undamaged car, the tires had melted into the pavement and all the windows were smashed, but it hadn't been incinerated by the explosion or firestorms. She looked in through the open door and saw a tattered grocery bag with canned goods and food bars; she smiled and reached towards the treasure trove. A hand shot out from the back seat and grabbed her by the wrist, causing Marceline to cry out in alarm.

"Mine!" an obese woman shrieked as she crawled out of the back. "Little thief!"

The woman had been badly burned on one side of her body, the dull blue dress she was wearing was almost perfectly bisected, the left side blackened and rumpled by the flash heat from the bomb. The left side of her head and neck was a ruined mass of red and black, her fair hair thinning and clotted on the side where it had not been seared off. Her remaining eye burned with a lunatic fury that sent chills down Marceline's spine, there'd be little point talking with this one; her only hope now was to escape. The woman clambered forwards, swiping at Marceline's face with a charred claw. She hissed and spat incoherently, her mangled hand grabbing a lock of her black hair.

Marceline shrieked in alarm and pain. "Ow! Lemme go! Stop it!"

"Thief! Filthy little mutie skag!" the hag crooned. "Teach you to steal, I will!"

"Let…me…" Marceline growled gutturally, cocking back a fist. "GO!"

Her tiny arm shot forwards with demonic force, connecting with the burnt half of the fat woman's face just below the empty eye socket. A wet 'thwack' rang through the car cabin. Marceline could feel something shatter under her knuckles, the surface under the skin becoming loose and dissolute. For a brief horrible moment she saw the hollow socket deform and collapse before the woman was sent hurtling back into the back seat. Marceline paused in horror, gasping in alarm and disgust when she saw the blood on her hand. The body in the back seat began to convulse and seize, a sort of low gurgle emanating from its destroyed mouth as jellied neurons misfired and shorted. Marceline felt a sudden surge rise up from her stomach; she covered her mouth and sprinted from the shuddering vehicle.

She ran to the other side of the road and retched loudly. She spat for a moment, the foul taste in her mouth barely overpowering the feeling of disgust within her. Turning back, Marceline looked over at the car and almost screamed when she saw it was still bouncing on its shocks, the body in the back seat was still thrashing. Marceline looked at the blood on her trembling hands, a low keening sound emanating from her horrified grimace. She ran. She sprinted down the road, running as fast as her little legs would carry her, leaping over bodies and rocks and obstacles. She tripped on a loose piece of concrete and was sent sprawling, bouncing painfully off of the asphalt. Marceline groaned as she laid face down on the road, she propped herself up and came face to face with another corpse, its roasted face stuck in a grimace of pain and fear. She screamed, scrambling away from the body only to come face to face with another one, she noticed that it was smaller than the others and thin beyond desiccation; it was a child's body. She leapt to her feet and continued to run, at some point losing the road. She leapt over rails and traffic dividers. The shattered city was now an enormous maze filled with corpses and death.

She ran for what felt like hours, a blur of new horrors etched into her exhausted mind. Throughout she encountered only a few dozen survivors out of a city of millions. Everyone she met were either dying from wounds or were displaying severe radiation sickness. So she continued to run until she couldn't summon the will to run any longer. She just sort of shuffled along, stumbling through the grey mass of death and misery that used to be her home, dully watching her body from the outside. Through the fog of trauma Marceline could make out two words 'Spalding Avenue' on a toppled street sign. From deep within the recesses of her mind a name crawled forth to accompany the information.

"Hampton…" she said aloud, that morning had seemed so long ago. "Hambo! The shelter!"

Once again she snapped back into her body, she looked around intently as she tried to discern where Spalding began. She dragged the signpost over to its former anchorage and began to match up the broken edges; she felt them lock together and looked up at the sign. She ran across the intersection and up Spalding, scanning intently for the shelter. She skidded to a stop, mouth agape at what she saw. For hundreds of meters around the city simply cease to be, only a flat field of black melted slag as far as the eye could see. She tentatively set foot on the formerly molten surface; she could feel the heat, even through her shoes.

"It's okay…It's okay…" she said to herself. "Shelters are meant for this kind of thing."

She walked past the almost liquefied remains of a car, trying not to notice the ashen bones protruding from the cooled metal. She had seen videos of C-Beams before, she always thought they looked so pretty, giant pillars of red-orange light that glittered as the air around them arced and flashed like lightning. Three seconds was all it took to melt a million tons of steel and concrete into smoldering wreckage. She searched the blasted field for any sign of a hatchway or stairwell; the blasts from bombs and repeated beam attacks had created ripples and shockwaves in the then-molten surface, giving the appearance of waves and crests frozen into the blackened slag. Her sharp eyes detected an odd looking formation, similar to a wave breaking against a rocky shore. As she approached it she could see that it was a walled-off stairwell, an alcove of supercrete reinforced with nanotubes and other such wonderful things. As the city and its buildings evaporated and dissolved the alcove remained unharmed. It was the entrance to the shelter.

Marceline gasped with joy and walked around the outcropping, looking for the entrance. The slag had welled up around the walls, allowing her to clamber up their uneven surfaces and perch atop the stairwell. She looked around at the structure; the stairs themselves had been made from normal concrete and steel, as such they were now a puddle on the floor. She could see a slightly scuffed neo-steel door; she leapt down and twisted the wheel-handle and tried to open it, but the solidified debris held it fast at the bottom. Marceline grunted in irritation and tested the slag with her foot. She braced herself by holding on to the wheel-handle of the blast door and, with a sharp grunt, brought her heel down on the blockage with demonic strength. At first there was no effect, but after two more kicks fractures began to form, two more kicks and the slag was shattering into manageable chunks. Marceline clawed at the loose debris, clearing it away from the door. She then swung the door open hard enough to obliterate any remaining debris against it.

"Hambo!" she shouted, her voice reverberating through the dimly lit hallway.

She set one foot into the shelter, the light 'tap' of her sole hitting the hard floor echoed through the empty structure. She whimpered and stepped back before steeling herself. "You're a demon now Marcie! You're strong. You're tough. You're smart. Keep your head on your shoulders and protect your heart…head on shoulders, protect heart…"

She slowly walked into the shelter; the flickering lights were dim and dying but still cast everything in a brilliant light to her sensitive eyes. She continued down the hallway, becoming acutely aware of the strong smell in the place; it smelled like outside, there was burning chemical smell but the other smells, the damp organic smells of rotting meat and roasted flesh, were far more noticeable. Marceline began to panic, her mother had been right that these shelters were death traps!

'_The necklace should keep him safe,_' she thought to herself. '_Mommy said it was powerful protection charm, like the one she used on me but a necklace._'

Marceline approached the source of the rotting/roasted smell. She swallowed anxiously as she grasped the wheel-handle of the door and twisted it. It opened with a slight hiss, strangely sucking air in rather that pushing it out. She looked inside and gasped in horror. "Oh no…"

The floor was covered in bodies, a carpet of immolated corpses two to three layers deep. They had been packed in here like sardines when the end had come, a room almost 50 meters on either side had been packed full. She looked up at the roof and the cause of death, a section had collapsed under the terrific bombardment and the entire room would have been flooded with super-heated plasma. Marceline gagged and retched anew, her empty stomach had nothing left to give. She looked out at the crypt, her demon eyes spotting something off to the side of the room, away from the carbonized mass she could see a body clearly. It wasn't so much as singed.

"Hambo?" she said, as she looked closer, seeing a mass of blond hair. "Hambo!"

She walked through the door and pushed her back to the wall, careful not to tread on the dried limbs of the many bodies, fearing that if she were to step on them that they could snap and crumble like dry leaves. She made it over to the blond-haired boy; he slumped against the wall, his long hair obscuring his features. Marceline whispered his name and waited for a response. There was none. She tried again, this time prodding him on the shoulder. Again, there was no response. As tears welled up in her eyes she desperately jostled the body, causing it to limply topple over revealing his face. His eyes were hazy and dully staring off into space, his mouth hung open and his tongue lolled slightly, his face a bright shade of pink.

The charm had worked perfectly, it had protected him from anything that would do him harm; it could have been over ten thousand degrees in that room and he wouldn't have even been warm. Hambo remained safe and untouched while everything around him burned; his family, his neighbors, his air, all had burned away and left him with nothing but ash and smoke and carbon monoxide to keep him company.

"Hambo…" she whispered numbly. "I'm safe, Hambo…I survived."

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Marceline shuffled through the city once more. Before she had felt like the city, a hollow wreck, the burnt remains of what was once alive and vibrant. The great cataclysm had torn away the last vestiges of her innocence and seemed to have left a yawning hollow void behind.

That was before.

She missed the hollowness, the sort of loose rattling feeling from before. It was better than what she felt now, she felt like she was simultaneously collapsing in on herself and exploding, that there was some desperate destructive thing inside her trying to claw its way out. She stopped in her tracks; her breathing took on a huffing quality, wordless sounds emanating from her clenched throat. She crossed her hands over her heart, afraid that it might get squeezed out by the turmoil within. A string of ragged chokes escaped her as hot tears began to roll down her cheeks; she let out a strained whimper before descending into a helpless peal of sobs. She wept loudly, her cries echoing through the broken city. She cried for her murdered home, she cried for Hambo, and she cried for her mother. But most of all she cried because, for all her newfound strength, she was still just a scared little girl completely alone in a dead city.

She felt a hand caress her cheek, wiping away her tears; it was a cool, soothing, and gentle hand.

She opened her eyes and looked up. Kneeling before her was a tall thin bearded man in a scholar's uniform. His skin was a cyanotic shade of blue and his nose was almost too long for his face. His hair was snow white and reached his shoulders, combined with his beard it made him look far older that he actually was. The eyes that looked out at her from behind the cracked blue-tinted tea shades were that of a much younger man than his appearance would suggest. His eyes were the most perplexing of all, glowing white sclera with dim light grey pupils, the colors of cold and frigid arctic planes; but behind them were a sort of desperate warmth trying to get out.

She stood there, blinking away the tears that still streamed from her eyes, as the man rose to his feet and looked around. He looked back down at her and gave a small smile and motioned for her to stay. He loped off towards the wreckage of a toyshop, gathered up something, and ran back over to her. He smiled at her comfortingly and handed her a large red stuffed monkey. He was a dim sort of red, not the color of blood or dark magic, but a comforting sort of pastel red that complimented the shiny blue buttons that were its eyes. Marceline felt the tears dry up in her eyes as she reached out and grabbed the toy, delighting in its softness. She felt an alien sensation in her cheeks as a smile formed, the misery that had been welling up inside her was transforming into something new and warm.

The man knelt again. "Feel better?"

Marceline sniffled and nodded.

He extended his hand to her. "My name is Simon, Simon Petrikov. What's yours?"

She reached out and took it, his hand was cold but she didn't mind. "Marceline, Marceline Abadeer."


	3. Chapter 3

**Sorry about the long wait guys, I guess I greatly underestimated school's capacity for spoiling everyone's fun. I keep doing that...**

**Anyway! This installment is a long one, I kinda got on a roll that then snowballed into an avalanche. **

**Enjoy, and be sure to let me know what you thought with reviews. I encourage any and all forms of constructive feedback, good or bad!**

THROUGH THE WRECKAGE

Chapter 3: Memoirs

Jake and Finn sat across from Marceline, both of them eying their empty cups quietly. A shallow silence hung in the air, but the silence practically screamed what they were thinking.

"Marceline–" Finn began.

"Forget it," she said quickly, an understanding look on her face. "It's like Jake said, he's dangerous and he need to be stopped sometimes. Besides, it's not like you guys can kill him or anything."

"Still…" Jake said, rubbing the back of his head. "We basically came over here to beat on your sorta-dad-gramps-friend. Don't matter how you put it, that sucks big time."

"Yeah, that defs sucks," Finn murmured.

"Really guys, it's cool," Marceline said with a wave of her hand.

"Not just that," Finn said with a dismissive gesture. "The whole thing sucks. I mean, your childhood was pretty bad and everyone you knew was either dead or a complete donk, but then Simon came a long and took care of you. He didn't have to but he did anyway 'cause it was the right thing to do. _Ice King_ used to be a hero like us, and he still got a raw deal! That kinda blows in general!"

Marceline sighed and nodded. "Yeah…he was a hero. More than you guys know."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Jake said curiously.

Marceline drummed her fingers on her mug, a contemplative look on her face. "I dunno…all this remembering has got me thinking, all this time I just thought Simon went crazy, but now I know it was the crown that drove him nuts. There's a whole other side to this story, another half…"

"And?" Finn asked.

Marceline smirked and looked at the two of them. "And I think that's where I'm going to break off this little soiree. I think I need some alone time, guys. Come back later if y'all still want to know."

"But–" Finn started before being cut off by Jake's hand over his mouth.

"Sure thing Marcie! You want alone time, you got it!" Jake said nervously, shooing Finn out the door. "We'll be back for a jam session later this week, if you want to tell us anything then, go right ahead! See you later!"

"Jake! What the math!" Finn said defiantly.

"Man, when a lady says she wants to be alone, it's for the dude's benefit!" Jake said explanatorily. "And that's just normal chicks, let alone Vamp-Demons."

"Later Marcie!" Finn shouted as they rushed out the door, wisely deferring to Jake's authority on the subject of moody ladies. "See you later!"

"Bye guys!" she said with a light chuckle.

Once her guests had left she turned and looked at the pile of scrap paper in her living room. '_Simon had a diary…I can't believe I forgot that! All this time, all these years I blamed him for leaving me, for forgetting me…I have to know!_' she levitated out the door and flew into the clear night sky, looking out over the fields to the distant Ice Kingdom. '_I have to know what happened to you, Simon!_'

"Stupid wizards…" Ice King grumbled as he shuffled around in his living room. "Ya put one punk in the healing tank for no reason and suddenly you're the bad guy!"

"Wenk," clucked Gunter as he waddled into the room.

"What's that?" Ice King said in surprise. "There's a scary-looking vampire lady heading right for the Ice Kingdom?"

"Wenk."

"Joke's on her, I don't even _have_ blood anymore!" Ice King said with a cackle. "Ready the Snow Golems! Scramble the Ice Constructs and get ten squadrons of Blizzard Dragons in the air! Today, Gunter, the Ice Kingdom goes _to war_!"

"Hey Gunter," Marceline said as she sat in the windowsill.

"Wenk," Gunter said amicably.

The Ice King did a small double take before throwing his hands in the air. "Oh, Marceline! You'd better get out of here, there's a terrible vampire heading this way!"

"Uhhhh…right. That'd be me, Marceline the _Vampire_ Queen, remember?"

"You _know_ I don't," Ice King said with surprising lucidity.

"What?"

"Fine, whatever! Ransack the place; just don't take my drum set!" Ice King said dismissively. "Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a fanfic to work on. When last we left him, Prince Gumball was in the firm-yet-tender clutches of the Ice Queen…"

"I-eh-whuh…" Marceline blinked in confusion before shaking her head. "Yeah-no. I'm just gonna let that one sail by…"

"Hmmph! Your loss!" Ice King said. "I'd say it's my best work yet!"

Marceline raised an eyebrow; this inane hobby could be useful. "So…you like to write?"

"Oh yes! Lyrics, fanfics, even some original work! I do it all, baby!" Ice King exclaimed with a gleeful laugh. "Why? You interested?"

Marceline scratched her chin; she may not have to steal anything after all. "Maybe…we've worked on lyrics before, and I'm not too big into fanfics–"

"That's a shame!" Ice King said. "Really, it's an underappreciated medium! It's excellent for sharpening one's writing abilities, like crafting story structure, pacing, blocking, and dialogue. It bypasses the daunting task of world-building and character creation and just lets you hone your craft!"

"…Kay…" Marceline said, quickly rolling her eyes. "Well, what about your original fiction?"

Ice King blushed and made a bashful gesture. "No, no, it was the first thing I ever wrote, I'm ashamed of it now!"

"What? Why?"

"Oh, I must have written it during a phase or something, it's so depressing and introspective and philosophical! It's about a guy and a little girl traveling together after some kind of apocalypse. He's got this magical hat or something that makes him amazingly powerful but destroys his mind bit by bit every time he puts it on. So, he has to choose between his own sanity and helping the little demon girl in his care from the myriad monsters and bandits that roam their broken world. It's written as a first-person memoir, basically 'Author-Insertion: The Format'! So pretentious!"

'_That's it! The diary!_' she thought to herself. "Actually…" Marceline said slowly. "I think I'd like to read that one!"

"No!" Ice King said, sweeping his arms horizontally in a negating gesture. "I'm sorry I even brought it up!"

"Okay, okay…" Marceline said, frantically thinking of a way to get the diary. "Oh yeah! I remember why I came here! Ice King, there's a princess who wants to marry you!"

Ice King grinned maniacally. "What, really?"

Marceline nodded. "Yeah! She's the, uh, Smoochie Princess of the, er, Snugees Kingdom! It's on the other side of the grasslands, if you leave now you might be able to get there by midnight!"

"Oh…" Ice King muttered, his brow furrowing. "Can't do that then! Augh! Just my luck that this happens now of all times!"

"Huh?" Marceline said. "What is it?"

Ice King shimmied up his robe and exposed an arcane-looking bracelet around his ankle. "I'm under wizard house arrest. See, there I was sitting in a wizard bar, minding my own business, when this punk-looking Dökkálfar mage hovers in and starts up some D-List chinwag with some water nymphs. One of your songs comes up over the radio and he starts talking about how you and him had a thing or something…then something about selling a hambone to a witch…I dunno, it gets pretty hazy after that…" he looked up at Marceline and regained his train of thought. "Anyway, next thing I know I've got four Ice Golems working him over while he yellows the Snow Beast eating his legs. Bam! House arrest!"

Marceline suppressed a triumphant giggle and tapped her chin contemplatively. "That's unfortunate…say, Simon–"

"Who?" Ice King muttered. "Is that some sort of pet name? If so, I _like_ it! Gunter, what do you think of being called 'Simon' from now on?"

"W-we…wenk," Gunter stammered, putting a flipper to his face.

Marceline continued. "Hypothetically speaking, if someone were to take your original fic and read it without your permission, you would…?" Marceline said.

"Oh, I would summon a rage the likes of which this or any mortal world has never seen. So great would be my fury that I would loose a spasm of magic so wild and crazy that it would bury the planet in a layer of ice for four-hundred boring years!" Ice King said cheerfully. "Why do you ask?"

"No reason…" Marceline said quickly, scratching her head before snapping her fingers. "Ah! Hold on a second…"

She reached into her pocket and produced a small paper card and a pen. She hurriedly scribbled a message on both sides and handed it to the Ice King. "Here, for when you're not house arrested."

Ice King read out the words on the card. "Hmmm…'_For Smoochie Princess's phone number and address, flip card'_. Oh boy!" He turned the card over in his hand and read aloud once again. "…'_For Smoochie Princess's phone number and address, flip card_'. Oh boy! …'_For Smoochie Princess's phone number and address, flip card_'. Oh boy! …'_For Smoochie Princess's phone number and address, flip card_'. Oh boy! …'_For Smoochie Princess's_…"

Marceline quietly levitated behind Ice King and looked around. "Now, where would you be…?"

"Wenk," said Gunter.

"The 'The Past Room'?" Marceline exclaimed. "Where's that?"

Gunter sighed and gestured. "Wenk."

"Okay."

He made a series of motions with his flippers. "Wenk."

"Right."

"Wenk," he explained, making exactly seven circling gestures.

"Shoot! I should write this down!" Marceline produced a small black book and turned to a blank page. "Alright, continue."

"Wenk."

"Down southern hallway near the atrium complex…150 meters…right turn next to the psoriasis wing…"

"Wenk," Gunter corrected before continuing. "Wenk."

"_Chrysalis_ wing, sorry," she muttered as she continued to write down the directions. "Down ten levels…right on the fourth borealis chamber in the eastern wing…and down the spiral stairs! Thanks G!"

Gunter waddled in front of her, standing between her and the stairwell. "Wenk."

Marceline rolled her eyes. "I'm really not in the mood to discuss the moral ramifications of stealing from friends. Besides, I'll give it back, so it's more like borrowing."

Gunter blinked incredulously. "Wenk."

"It is _not_ and issue of semantics! I'm really going to give it back, honest!"

"Wenk!" Gunter exclaimed.

"I don't care what Simon would say! He was all about heroics and morals and all that jazz, and look where it got him!" Marceline shouted, gesturing at the Ice King as he flipped the card over once again. "Simon's _gone_, Gunter, and he's _not_ coming back!"

Gunter looked down at the ground. "…Wenk?"

Marceline gasped and turned away, tears welling up in her eyes. "I just need to get closure, G. I need to know…I need to know how my friend died."

Gunter shuffled out of her way and gestured down the stairwell. "Wenk."

"Thanks, G…you…you look after him, okay?" Marceline said, wiping a partial tear from her eye.

Gunter nodded and she hovered down the stairs. Gunter turned back to the Ice King, who flipped the card over again and began to read, he sighed and shook his head.

Marceline hovered into the 'The Past Room'. It was cluttered and messy, filled with overflowing boxes and various bits of debris from the past. Old instruments, pieces of clothing, various knick-knacks and bric-a-brac jutted out at her as reminders of a world centuries dead. She scanned the rubble before finding what she had been looking for. She picked up the tattered old book up from the desk. She spun around, looking for anyone who might be watching. She stealthily slid the diary into her purse and began to trace her steps out of the castle.

She levitated up the staircase, a part of her laughed and sobbed at the same time to see that Ice King was still following the card's directions. "…Si-,er, Ice King, I'll be seeing you! You take it easy now!"

"This Sudoku puzzle is diabolic," he muttered under his breath before blinking and smiling at her. "Oh, right. Uh, you too!"

Marceline flew out the window and into the night.

Ice King turned to Gunter, who was reading a novel in a cushioned chair. "Gunter! Do you know who that was? Marceline was just in my house! Oooh! I'm –_so–_ going to brag about this online!" He looked down at the card in his hand. "…'_For Smoochie Princess's phone_'–"

Gunter shot to his feet and slapped the card out of Ice King's hand.

––––––––––––––––––––

Marceline poured over the memoirs. Simon's handwriting had been so neat at the beginning, clipped and respectable much like the man himself. She could see as time went on, the degradation of his mind began to manifest as his writing became messier, his normally perfect grammar and punctuation phased out in favor of a sort of rambling scrawl. Strangely, Simon maintained his rich and ornate prose throughout his ordeal, his later ramblings and rants would be vibrant and almost poetic were they not so deranged. His writing was lush and descriptive, his ability to convey visuals through text no doubt a cultivated talent for an antiquarian.

Marceline sighed and closed the journal, a malaise beginning to settle over her. "Ohhhh man…this is gonna suck…but I have to, I have to know."

She opened the diary to the first entry; she had remembered Simon getting a nice-looking notebook as they left the remains of the second city they had walked through. She remembered how she had laughed when this grown man openly admitted to wanting to keep a diary. He had insisted on the term 'journal' or 'memoir', but she had decided that it was a diary, so it was a diary. With a shrug and a smile Simon called it a diary, he had said that it didn't matter what it was called, the purpose was the same.

––––––––––––––––––––

"Memory," he said, drumming his fingers on the cover. "It's the most important thing we have. Well, second most important."

"What's the most important thing?" Marceline said, hanging from the cannon of a long-dead tank.

Simon reached out and pressed her nose like a button. "Something worth remembering."

Marceline smiled and let go of the barrel, setting down next to their shopping cart; she reached into the cart and produced her teddy bear. She had named it 'Hambo' for whatever reason, when questioned she became despondent and quiet, usually a cue for Simon to cheer her up with a story or ice trick.

Marceline cradled the stuffed animal in her arms and looked up at Simon. "D'you hear that Hambo? Simon says I'm worth remembering! Huh? Wuzzat? Hmm…good question!" She looked up at Simon, who was still sitting on the front of the tank. "Is Hambo worth remembering, too?"

Simon nodded and addressed Hambo directly. "What a thing to ask! Would I have picked you out of a great big pile of toys if you weren't the most special and worthy stuffed animal there?"

Marceline turned Hambo's head to face hers, she smiled shook his head with her hand. "Hambo says that he trusts your disgustion."

"That'd be 'decision', Hambo," Simon said wryly.

Marceline blushed slightly and turned to Hambo again. "Yeah! Learn your words right!"

He couldn't help but smile. She had told him about her mother and all the terrible things she had seen in her hometown, and yet here she was, not a month later and she was smiling and laughing. He marveled at her strength, not just her physical strength, he'd seen her tear car doors clear off their hinges with little more than a grunt, but the strength of her spirit. She'd seen things that would send most grown men into hysterics, but she had weathered it remarkably well. There was no doubt in Simon's mind that she would have been able to survive on her own; she was smart enough to forage and more than strong enough to defend herself, it was something else entirely that compelled him to stay with her. He could sense greatness within her, the sort of neutral potential that only the truly extraordinary possess; he could see the potential for a great hero within her, but also the potential for a monster without peer. Her 'alignment', for want of a better term, was that of chaotic extremes; the good she could accomplish was as boundless and awesome as the suffering she could inflict. She needed a guide, someone to steer her to the right path, to be her moral compass in the grim world they occupied. Marceline didn't need him to help her, or even to protect her, really; she needed to be _saved_.

Simon hopped down from the tank and picked his travel pack back up. "Well, I think it's about time we head on out. This city got his harder than most, I don't think we'll find much else here."

"Why'd all these cities get nuked, Simon?" Marceline said, gathering her things and following him. "And why radiation bombs?"

Simon looked down at her and shrugged. "Not sure. Survivors I encountered before I met you said that a lot of the cities attacked by The Lich went crazy. That the people in the cities went mad and started attacking the military. Some even said that the dead themselves were rising from the grave and started killing for their master. I guess the army figured that the dirty bombs would kill everything."

Marceline looked back at the ruins, there were almost no buildings left intact, the entire city was now just an uneven pile of scorched debris that went on for miles in each direction. "They figured right."

––––––––––––––––––––

Simon grunted as he pushed their shopping cart through the debris on the road, hoping in vain to loosen whatever stray particle was jamming the wheel. The blasted thing was barely functional under the best conditions, and this 'apocalypse' business certainly wasn't helping matters. Marceline was off in the woods taking care of business, demon or not the old adage of 'what goes in…' still applied.

Simon rattled the handle bar, the wheel rolled much better but the front end of the cart wasn't turning. '_It's probably that gosh-darned swivel again. I can't keep wasting oil on it, but if I don't repair it it'll break for good!' _Simon grunted and looked up into the sky. '_As far as nuclear winters go, this one isn't so bad…says the ice wizard…_'

Simon had noted that nearly every puddle of water they had come across had a skin of ice over the top; some of the shallower puddles were frozen completely. Not that either of them noticed; Marceline seemed highly resistant to all but the coldest of weather, and he had his crown to thank for his imperviousness to…anything, really.

'_It ̶çou҉l̷d b̀e ͠col͞der,_' the crown hissed.

Simon pursed his lips and grunted again, pushing the cart through the debris.

'_Ít͡ sho̕uld͡ ҉be ̀c̴o͏lde̕r.͠.'_' it said, sounding almost indignant.

"No," Simon mumbled.

'_Do͞ ̵i҉ţ.̛._' it commanded.

Simon shook his head, desperately trying to keep his eyes off the coronet that hung from his belt. "I can't…"

'_D̕o it͟, ̵S̢imo̧n͝.̛ The i̵c̕e, ͢t͡he ͜íc̴e ̷can͢ h́e͘l̶p͘ ̕y҉ou i͢f̀ yǫư l̕et it̶.̀_'

He furrowed his brow, his blue knuckles now white with consternation. "No."

'_Do͟ ͝it. ͞Ṕut̀ ͘it ̕o͞n. Hear ͝the̡ ̨whi͝spers̸, th̕e͠ ͝s̕e̴cr̸etş ͢o͏f snów an͘d̷ i͝c̶e. ͏Kno̕w ̛the̵ ͢wo͞n͟d͜e̢rs o͏f͏ g͜ȩl̴i҉d͡ miŗac̨les,̢ ̴t͠h̢e͜ power̕ of f̵rost. The̴ po͘wer͏ ̀of f͞r̴os̴t͠,͢ S͞imo͘n̴.̡ ́Ţh͞ę ̕p̴ow̧er ̸of ̡f͝ro̷s͏t! T̶he̢ ̧p̀ow̶er̸ ̵of ͝fr̴óst! T͜he̸ ̀p͜ow̨er҉ ́of ̢frost́! ͜T͠h҉e ̵po̧w̕e͡r̴ of ̨f͜ròst!_' it howled in his mind, the pitch of its screams like icy needles in his brain.

Simon clutched his head and grit his teeth before shouting out loud. "NO! Shut up! I won't do it! I'll never do it! Leave me be you wretched thing!"

'_Do ̷it̴!̨ ̀P̵ut̨ ͏i̵t͡ on͟! ͢D̢o i͜t!͘ P̛u͢t i͡t ͏on!̀ Do͢ ̛i̧t͜! ̸Put̴ i̷t ͢on!̵ ̛Do ̧it!͝ Put̸!͘ i̛t!͏ ҉O͡N! ͝' _the crown bellowed.

"SHUT!" Simon grabbed both sides of the cart and hurled it to the side with all his might. "UUUUUUUUP!"

Simon stood in the middle of the road and panted, fists clenched in fury, a single tear of rage and frustration trailing down his cyanotic cheek before disappearing into his beard. He blinked in surprise at the sight before him; all their supplies, mostly dried food, candy bars, canned soup, and mineral water were now scattered across the cracked asphalt. "Aw, poop…"

"Simon!" Marceline called from the distance.

Simon spun around and immediately ran to the source of the voice. "Marcie? What's wrong?"

"Over here!" Marceline shouted as she stood in a clearing 20 meters from the road. "I found something!"

Simon raced over to her and looked over to where she was pointing. There was a crater blasted into the ground almost 100 meters away, all of the trees between them and the crater had been completely flattened by the blast wave. The crater itself was probably 30-40 meters in diameter and about half as deep; the glassy nature of the pulverized ground suggested either a small tactical nuke or a medium sized I-Bomb.

"So?" Simon said, suddenly anxious about the state he had left their supplies in. "It's just another crater, Marcie."

"Don't you see it?" she said, her eyebrow rose in confusion as she pointed. "There. See? Far side of the crater, there's a corner of concrete or something."

Simon squinted; he couldn't see anything but conceded that Marceline's eyes were far and away superior to his own. "Could it be a rock?"

"No. Too square, any rock that close to the explosion woulda been smashed up," she said. "That means it's probably supercrete, which means it's a bunker, which means people!"

Simon scratched his beard, he agreed. "Could be dangerous."

Marceline leapt four meters in a single bound, landing nimbly on a felled tree trunk. "To us? C'mon Simon! Besides, they could need our help or somethin'."

Simon sighed and made his way towards the crater, inelegantly hopping from tree to tree. "Whatever you say, Marcie."

––––––––––––––––––––

Marceline examined the square corner protruding about a meter and a half from the excavated earth. It was pretty dinged up and worn, but supercrete always lived up to its name. She turned around to see Simon awkwardly jogging around the crater's edge, he was so funny sometimes, alternating between wise and silly at a moment's notice, but he always managed to keep and air of respectability that she couldn't help but admire.

She adored him much in the same way a child would idolize their older siblings or non-familial mentors. Simon always seemed to know what to do in any situation, things like how to make clean water, how to start fires, how to find food, and all sorts of other stuff. He also knew a lot of great stories, stories about heroes and legends and monsters. She loved those stories most of all when they were being told around a campfire away from all the scary ruins and smelly corpses. It made her feel, if only for a moment, like the world had kept on spinning, that all that 'doomsday' garbage was just a bad dream. The stories themselves would come from the big pretty bejeweled book with a really dumb and hard-to-pronounce name; Simon said it translated to 'The Hero's Handbook'. She thought it was fitting, who else could keep hold of The Hero's Handbook other than her hero? Because that's what Simon was, beyond 'friend' or even 'father', he was her hero.

Simon made his way over to her, huffing slightly. "Whew! Well, I guess I don't have to worry about your health, you seem plenty energetic!"

Marceline smiled and patted her bicep. "Best in the world, Simon!"

He smiled and nodded. "Best in the world, Marcie."

Simon made some calculations based off of the part of the bunker that was exposed and pointed off to some place in the debris field. "The entrance should be somewhere over there. It'll be hidden, disguised, probably as a tree stump or a rock."

Marceline looked around, tree stumps and rocks accounted for pretty much two-thirds of their immediate surroundings. "Aw drazzle-snags."

"Marceline!" Simon said sternly. "Language!"

"Sorry, Simon," she said, clambering up an especially wide tree trunk. "Man! This is gonna be like a needle in a haystack! Eh, let's forget about it. I'm sure the folk in there'll be fine without us, right?"

"Found it," Simon called out from a ways away.

Marceline leapt over to him and looked down at the domed neosteel door partially covered by a felled tree, it was encased in a substance that looked enough like wood. "That was fast, how'd you find it so quickly?"

Simon pointed at the base of the disguised entrance; it was more or less undamaged. "I figured that the least smashed and/or burned object proximal to a nuclear detonation was probably man-made."

"Smarty-pants!" Marceline said and blew a raspberry.

Simon tapped his forehead and smiled. "The smartest. Are you still the strongest?"

Marceline smirked and posed. "Stand back!"

She walked up to the tree and ducked under it, laying her back on the ground and carefully placed both her hands and her feet on the trunk. She grunted in exertion and slowly but surely the tree began to rise. Perspiration stood out on her brow as she pushed upwards, the tree rose up off of the artificial stump and with a final push Marceline rolled it off to the side, causing it to impact the ground with a resounding thud. Marceline shot to her feet and wiped her forearms across her brow, she grinned at Simon, revealing her many shining white shark teeth.

"One never quite gets used to seeing a forth grader lifting three tons," Simon said, patting her on the head.

Marceline pointed at the entrance. "Wanna open it?"

Simon grasped the spin wheel on the top of the circular door. "Well, it's probably locked in all likelihood. I mean, who would shell out a fortune for a bunker and leave their–" the wheel turned and was followed by a click inside, "–door open? Hmm…"

"Awesome!" Marceline said happily. "Let's go say hi!"

"Hold on," Simon said, hefting open the door. "If there are people down there, they probably won't be too excited to see us. You wait up here and I'll let you know if it's safe."

"But–!" she began to say.

"Do as I say, Marcie!" Simon said authoritatively. "You're tough, but you're not immortal. I am. Stay here until I call for you."

Marceline sighed and kicked the entrance. "Whatever you say, Simon."

Simon gave her an approving look before making his way down the ladder inside. She was strong and she could heal from just about anything, but Simon's 'condition' made him nearly impossible to kill instantly. He speculated that extended periods of horrific trauma could conceivably wear down the crown's ability to sustain his life, but he knew from personal experience that things like bullets, knives, and poisons could not kill him, much less keep him that way. He preferred not to discuss with Marceline how he knew his limitations as well as he did, she didn't need to know what people could do to themselves if sufficiently motivated, not yet anyway.

He set down at the bottom of the shaft and looked up; it was maybe four or five meters up. He turned around and looked at the door, it was a big and heavy-looking thing; the deadbolt mechanism seemed to be that of interlocking metal beams that slid into heavy locking interfaces in the walls. Unlike the first door, this one had been activated. Were they in some kind of hurry? Probably.

Simon examined the parts of the mechanism he could see, hoping that he could somehow pick it. Eventually he gave up and put his hand against the door, focusing on the 10-centimeter neosteel bolt inside. A moment's concentration and he lowered the temperature of a 1-millimeter thick section of the bolt to near absolute zero over the course of about a second. The sudden and abrupt change in temperature caused the metal to condense far too quickly and the brittle section to cracked like ice. He repeated the action over and over until the door could be opened. He swung it inwards and looked inside, it was brightly lit and the air had a fresh if somewhat dry flavor to it.

'_Air purifier, this is probably a luxury model,_' Simon thought to himself. '_If I recall the brochure correctly, this is a live-in type. Food and fuel for 5-10 years, plush living accommodations, 10,000 square feet. Just the sort of thing Betty and I should…_' Simon stopped in his tracks, his mouth agape. '_My glob…Betty…I haven't thought about her in…months! Oh glob, I'd-I'd _forgotten_ about her! How?! How could I have forgotten about her?! How could I have forgotten my Princess?!_'

He lent against a wall and clutched his head; just thinking about her now was causing a familiar static to invade his mind. He cast a baleful eye down at the crown on his belt. "…You. It was you, wasn't it? You made me forget!"

'_T̶h͞e fémąl̨e͢ ̕w̨as węak̢,̧ ̶s͠hè ͡wòul̀d̢ not̷ h͏e̕ar͠ th̶e̴ divi͟n̕e se͘cre̶t͡s͠ ͞of͡ ́th͝e̕ ̶susurr̡a͢t̀e s͏n͞ow.̸_' the crown murmured. _'҉Th̨e ͡mere m̨e͝mo͞ry of h҉ér̴ ͘w̵e͝ak̴ens you,̨ ͡m͟ak͢es̀ y̶ou at͟te̸mp͡t t̵e҉r҉m͠ina͢tio̵n͏. Th͘iş ̨is…̡un̷acce̷p̀tąb͟le͏.͜_'

"I swear," Simon growled. "I swear I will one day destroy you! I will pay you back for what you've done, for what you're doing!"

'_U͘nļikely̶,̵,_' it said, its voice almost mocking in tone.

"Just try me!" he hissed.

'_Th̶e ͞p̨o͏w͏ȩr͠ o͡f t͜he ̵s͟a̡c҉red̀ i͟ce pŕes̵erv̶e̛s ̕you ̛in͠ t҉h͢is͟ ͟de̛ad̢ ͘wo̕rld̶. Wit͜hou͞t͜ it̸ ͞you͜ ẃou̡l͡d ͜pe͡r̨i̷s̛h̀._'

"What makes you think I care about my life?"

The crown paused, '_What ͏of͝ t͟h҉e̛ g͢ir̷l? Yo͝u͘ ͢w͠o͢u̧l̛d ̡lea͢v͢e h͢e̕r ͜al̨o̧n͠e ̢in th̢i͏s ̡w͢orl͟d͜?̸ W͏ow͞,̕ ͞t͝h͞at͠'s c͜ól͘d…̶h̕e̕h.̡_'

"Who're you talking to down there, Simon?" Marceline shouted from outside.

"No one, Marcie," he turned his gaze back down the hallway. "No one."

As he walked down the hall a faint smell caused him to wrinkle his nose, it was a faint but unmistakable odor; it was the late occupants. He opened the door to the first room he came across; it was a bedroom with a bounty of fancy furniture and ornate wallpaper covering the drab supercrete walls. There was even a video-window that displayed some idyllic field bordering a forest somewhere. On the double-sized bed was an attractive woman in a beautiful wedding gown, the bright and luminous white of the gossamer almost shone in the fluorescent light. It was put into ghastly contrast with the ashen grey-brown pallor of her skin. She had wanted to look beautiful.

He walked in, scanning the room for other bodies before re-examining the woman; she had been wearing make up when she had passed, and her gleaming black hair had been washed and done up in an ornate fashion. Dried pinkish foam ran down her face from her lipstick-reddened lips. Simon wafted the air over her mouth to his nose, bitter almonds, cyanide; this had been a suicide.

'_But why?_' Simon pondered. '_They could have survived down here for years…_'

He rose to his feet and walked out of the room. He looked down the hallway and walked over to the next room; inside he could see toys neatly stacked in one corner and a racecar bunk bed. Simon groaned and steeled himself for the coming unpleasantness. He walked into the room and examined the bodies. Twin boys about Marceline's age, their curly black hair neat and combed, dressed in their dapper little suits, the remnants of foam about their mouths. Simon sighed in disgust; they took the children with them. Why?

'_They? Where's the father? Did he…?_' Simon pinched the bridge of his nose. '_…Shame on you, Petrikov! People are better than that!_'

Simon carefully wrapped the bodies in their blankets and lifted them off of their beds. On the floor he used their sheets and other blankets to tightly wrap and secure the bodies. He gently dragged them out into the hall and then did the same with their mother. He strained slightly as he pulled all three of them over to the entrance, stopping to call up to Marceline.

"Marcie! I need your help with something!"

Marceline peeked her head over the edge. "What is it?"

"I need you to help me get some bodies out of here," he explained.

"Gross," Marceline shuddered. "Why? Can't we just leave them in their fancy tomb?"

"No, Marceline! We have to bury them," Simon said. "It's the…"

"…Right thing to do," Marceline said in unison with Simon. "Okay, okay. I'll be right down."

Simon nodded and began to drag a body into the hatchway. "Alright. We'll need to find a long piece of rope and get some kind of pulley going-"

Marceline abruptly plummeted down the 5-meter fall, her tiny feet making a loud clapping sound as they impacted the supercrete. She looked at the tightly wrapped bodies and shuddered slightly. She roughly grabbed at the sides of the wrappings and hauled the woman's body into the hatchway.

Simon smirked and shook his head. "Marcie, you're really strong and all, but there's this thing called 'leverage'. A grown man couldn't lift ten kilos if he had the wrong lev–"

"Rigesco," she said, prodding the body with a claw.

The body went stiff and Marceline propped it up against the wall of the entrance. She grasped the feet and launched the body upwards at tremendous speeds. Guided by the wall, the body skidded upwards and was hurled several meters clear of the entrance. Simon flinched at the heavy thud of the body hitting the ground and the sharp snaps of branches, at least, he _hoped_ they were branches.

Simon sighed and put his hand to his face, Marceline made a questioning gesture. "What? It's faster this way!"

"Just…just be gentler with the other two, okay?"

Marceline nodded and pulled the two smaller bodies into the entrance. "Yeah, I think I overdid it a bit with the that one."

"Oh, just a bit?" Simon said flatly.

Marceline rolled her eyes and rigidified the bodies. "These 'uns are a lot lighter. I should be able to get them up there without getting too much air."

––––––––––––––––––––

They stood beside three mounds of replanted dirt; Marceline interlocked her hands in front of her as Simon read from his Handbook. She didn't see the point in burying these people, or in giving them a eulogy, but it was important to Simon and that was enough for her. She found herself at somewhat at odds with him more and more it seemed. Sometimes she'd do something that would upset him, like robbing bodies or stealing from sick people. In her mind it made perfect sense; they were either too sick or too dead to stop her from taking their stuff, so it was hers by default. It's not like corpses were going to have much use for their shiny rings, and what was a lady with terminal radiation sickness going to do with a bag of chips, puke them up? It almost seemed like a waste to _not_ take them. Simon would sigh and shake his head, saying that just because something was logical didn't mean that it was the right thing to do. She sort of liked it when she'd transgress his seemingly arbitrary statutes, because it usually meant he'd tell her a story from The Handbook, usually one related to the very rule that she broke. It helped her understand why he thought some things were 'right' while others were 'wrong', but she never truly felt like it became part of her. She'd still try her best not to break the same rule twice, because that sort of thing seemed to make Simon sad, and she'd sooner chew rocks than intentionally upset Simon.

"…So you continue your journey, fallen adventurers, while we remain behind. Your bodies we respect, for they were your vessels and only true possessions. Although the your adventure here was short and its end unpleasant, rest assured that the one you now face will be eternal. What you make of it is up to you," Simon said, closing The Handbook. "Peace out, bros."

Marceline looked up at Simon. " 'Peace out, bros'?"

Simon shrugged, "Hey, I didn't write it."

"Can we loot now?"

Simon began to shake his head before simply sagging; he nodded and grabbed her hand. "Yes, but don't call it that."

Marceline and Simon climbed down into the bunker and began to rummage through the storage rooms. Simon had been right about these people being well equipped! There were three whole rooms filled with canned goods, dehydrated goods, things called MREs, and even a walk-in freezer with meat and other foods that she hadn't had in almost a month. She turned to see Simon walking down the hall with armfuls of food and water bottles, as well as a few spare pairs of pants and other articles of clothing. She figured she might as well start picking out what she wanted. Marceline opened a cold box and gasped at what was inside.

"Simon! Simon, come quick!" she shouted.

The sound of rapid footfalls got louder until Simon skidded through the door. "What? What is it?"

Marceline beamed as she held up her treasure. "Ice cream!"

Simon blinked in confusion before smiling. "Ice cream? Is that all?"

Marceline looked aghast at this flippant attitude. "Whaddaya mean 'is that all'? They have ice cream! Pen & Jeremy's, all 112 flavors! This is freezer is worthy of Crawsus!"

Simon chuckled warmly. "That's Croesus, Marcie."

"Whatever," she turned to him. "Can we take some with us? Just a few?"

"No, even if it was cold enough to keep them frozen, it's not worth the space it would take up," Simon said as he walked back out the door. "We've got to stack up on actual food, we can't waste our time with junk."

Marceline deflated and began to put the ice cream carton back. "Okay Simon…"

Simon returned with two spoons and big smile on his face. "We can't take it with us, so I guess we have no choice but to stick around and eat as much as possible."

Marceline laughed happily and grabbed the spoon. "There's just no alternative!"

Simon and Marceline walked out of the freezer, arms full of ice cream, Marceline literally couldn't see over her stack of cartons.

Simon looked around and pointed down the hall. "There, if I'm remembering the layout correctly, that should be the rec room. They probably have some comfy chairs and movies or something."

"Yay!" she cheered, almost dropping a couple cartons.

Simon opened the door and walked in, there was a large and very comfy-looking couch as well as a television. There was something strange though, everything seemed slightly askew, as though it had been shaken violently. This must have been the side closest to the bomb.

"Bleeech!" Marceline mutter as she walked into the room. "This place smells bad…in my brain."

Simon looked around at the room; he was beginning to piece together what had happened. He looked down at the ground, there were cups and plates scattered on the ground, as well as a Geiger counter. Simon picked it up and switched it on, resulting in a loud squawk that made them both jump.

"400 rads…500 rads…" he examined the screeching tool and held the sensor out towards the wall, causing it to increase in pitch as he did. "…Eight hundred! Cheap, lousy, no good swindlers!"

"What're you talkin' about Simon?" Marceline said, the radiation 'stench' slowly driving her from the room.

"The contractors, the people who built this place!" he said angrily. "They cut corners and now these people are dead! This whole wall is irradiated, there's probably too much filler silicon in the supercrete! The bomb's radiation pulse must have caused some neutron activation, they probably didn't even know until it was too late…"

Simon could see them all sitting around the rec room, uneasy about the waves of nausea and chills they were all experiencing since the bomb hit. Then, one of the more astute members of the family strolls in with a Geiger counter and finds out, and they all run off, explaining the mess. By then it was too late, they'd all received more than fatal doses…no wonder they chose suicide. Radiation poisoning, especially the kind they would have gotten from this room, would have been excruciatingly painful as the intestinal tract turns to soup while they were still alive. Simon took the Geiger counter with him as he left, causing it to bleat and click less and less. He looked out into the hallway and saw Marceline sitting there, blissfully unaware of the grim goings-on of the world. He couldn't help but feel some of the anger slip away when he saw her savoring a big scoop of ice cream.

He called over to Marceline, who was half way through her first carton of ice cream. "Marcie, you said it smelled it there?"

"Yup," she said, shoveling a spoonful of ice cream into her mouth. "Iph 'adia-shun. *Gulp* I can tell if something's irradiated because of the funny feeling I get in my head, like, right behind the top of my nose and near my eyes. It's like…squirmy broccoli, bitter and weird."

Simon examined the Geiger counter. "Alright, it says right here that it's about…50 rads or half a gray. Based on what you feel now, what would you say the inside of the room smelled like?"

Marceline ate another spoonful and thought for a moment. "Ummmm…four, maybe five grays?"

He nodded and placed the counter on the ground, sliding it back into the room before kicking the door shut. "Won't be needing this then."

He sat down next to her and set down his ice cream. "What're you eating?"

Marceline brandished her carton. "Bon Bubblegum."

"Ohhh!" Simon said excitedly. "Can I have some?"

"Nope," she said through the spoon in her mouth, tilting the now empty carton sideways. "S'all gone!"

Simon sighed in mild disappointment and picked up one of his cartons. "Hmmm…Cinnamon Bun Fun!"

Marceline picked up another carton. "Wildberry Blast."

They tapped their cartons together and smiled. "Cheers."

––––––––––––––––––––

Simon grunted and climbed out of the entrance. He was hauling nearly a month's worth of supplies up with him. He swung a leg over the side and set down on the ground. Marceline launched herself out of the hatchway, setting down elegantly on a nearby log. It was made all the more impressive by the two month's worth of supplies she was carrying at the time. Simon clapped and Marceline bowed in an intentionally extravagant manner.

As they walked back to the road Simon cleared his throat. "You sure you don't want to stay there? They have beds, and ice cream."

She burped nauseously and shook her head. "Don't say 'ice cream', please…and yes, I'm sure."

"How come?"

Marceline shrugged. "I dunno. It's just that those nice soft beds, well, somebody _died_ in them. I held the bodies with my own hands…it'd be creepy." Simon nodded and continued walking; Marceline cleared her throat to get his attention. "Also…we don't need it, do we, like, 'cause we're the best in the world, you and me right? But other people…I mean we don't get cold, y'know? And we don't get sick either, not from radiation or bugs or whatever. We'd just be staying there because it'd be comfy, but other people would stay there because without it they'd _die_. That'd be a real pooh-brain thing to do, right?"

Simon grinned widely, his eyes lighting up with joy. "Very good Marcie, _very_ good!"

She smiled happily to herself, opening up her pack and pulling out Hambo. "Besides, Hambo didn't like it there. He said there were ghosts and that they were weirding him out with their messages and stuff."

Simon raised an eyebrow, it'd been a while since his last bout of hallucinations, but he'd felt something odd about that place. "What messages?"

Marceline smiled and shrugged. "Oh, y'know, ghostly stuff, like 'He ran away' and 'abandoned' and 'Ur 4 qt'. Funny ol' ghosts!"

––––––––––––––––––––

Simon and Marceline gathered up their cart but didn't bother picking up their old food; they already had more than enough.

"Some kind of animal must have knocked out cart over," Simon said as he arranged all of their old supplies in a pile.

Marceline sighed quietly; Simon still thought she didn't know about his little episodes. They seemed to be getting more and more frequent; he would grab his head and shout at someone to his left, someone very short because he always seemed to be looking down. "Uh-huh."

"Marcie, be a dear and bring me that collapsible storage box, I want to leave these here for anyone who might need them."

Marceline pulled a little bright green square out of the tightly packed cart. She flicked it in her hands and it snapped into the shape of a cube a meter wide. She walked over to Simon and gave it to him.

"Thank you, Marcie," Simon said, packing the various bits of scavenged food into the box. "This'll make some weary traveler very happy."

Marceline walked over to the cart, grabbed a small cylinder and walked back over to Simon, handing him the cylinder with a smile, it was a spray paint can. "Here. Why don't you write a message on the road, telling folk about the shelter?"

Simon scratched his beard. "Hmmm. But what about the irradiated room? That'd be dangerous for anyone living there."

"Tell 'em," she jangled the can. "We got a lot of paint."

Simon grinned and took the can. "You know, I think all my ramblings are starting to get through to you."

Marceline giggled and nodded.

––––––––––––––––––––

They walked along the roadside; a day had passed since they had left the bunker. Marceline held her arms out to balance herself on the concrete barrier; she looked up at the sky. It always looked like it was going to rain or snow, but it never quite did. She was so focused on the sky that she let out a surprised yell when her foot caught on a weird piece of debris propped up against the barrier. She bounced harmlessly off the hard asphalt, her head connecting solidly with a jagged piece of concrete, shattering it.

Marceline groaned and rubbed her head, it didn't hurt or anything but a tumble was still disorientating. Simon was calling her name as he muscled the shopping cart in her direction. She made the 'ok' sign with her hand and brushed pieces of pulverized concrete out of her hair. She turned around to see what she had tripped on.

"Huh."

Lying on the side of the road, leaning against the barrier, was a corpse dressed in what Marceline identified as a tuxedo. His brown skin was ashen and there were tiny pinpoint hemorrhages in the flesh under his eyes, his hair had fallen away, and his wide-open eyes were glazed and bloodshot. Marceline knew a radiation victim when she saw one, but how'd he get out here? Irradiated folk weren't renowned for their stamina, and the nearest city was two and a half days walk away, so where did this dapper fellow come from?

"Marceline!" Simon said. "Are you okay?"

Marceline shot him an incredulous look before nodding. "Yeah, I'm fine. Simon, look. A well dressed stiff. That's a little odd, isn't it?"

"Not at all, Marcie," Simon's eyes narrowed and he walked over to the body. 'Couldn't do it, could you? What were you thinking, that you'd be the one exception, that radiation wouldn't kill you just like it would have killed your family?'

"He's the dad, isn't he?" Marceline said quietly. "From the shelter."

Simon paused, "Yeah."

"Those people back there, the mom and the kids, they died some other way, right? A less awful way, instead of just dying from radiation?" Marceline asked.

"Some ways are better than others Marcie," Simon said. "It takes a lot of bravery to recognize that, even more bravery to go through with it. Some people just can't do it though."

"He left them," she seethed. "He abandoned his family just to die on a road a few miles away?!"

"Marceline, what–?" Simon looked over to her, she was baring her teeth and her eyes were glowing red. She stormed up to the body and screamed, "How?! How could you do that to them?! How could you leave your family?! You were their daddy! Daddys are supposed to be there! How could you?! How could you? How…?"

Hot tears streamed down her cheeks and she began to sob. Simon walked over to her, kneeled down and put his arms around her. She instantly latched onto him, wrapping her steely arms around his midsection in an almost painful hug, burying her face in his suit jacket as she sobbed hoarsely. Simon hugged her in return, whispering condolences and calmingly stroking her hair.

"…H-h-how could you?"

––––––––––––––––––––

The day was cold and grey; it was a dry cutting sort of chill that gave the wind an almost metallic edge. The campfires of survivors smoldered on the forested edge of a ruined city, abandoned by those searching in vain for the fabled southern climate, as though the sun that warmed that land was different from the one that hid from theirs. A Marceline giggled as she watched her breath climb into the air, she lost sight of it as it was consumed by the sky. She was glad that she could lose sight of it now, in those first few harrowing weeks the sky had been so dark and heavy with dust and soot that the wisps of her breath could be seen until it evanesced completely, a grey-white puff against a dark grey backdrop.

Ash still occasionally fell like snow, although most of it had already been pulled from the sky by rainfall and gravity. The snow that did fall was a dirty sort of grayish color; the flakes themselves were almost too large, as the ice had formed around floating dust particles that then clumped together and fell. This made them very easy to spot.

A large dusty flake tumbled out of the sky and landed on the little girl's outstretched tongue, instantly dissolving into a puddle of turbid liquid. The girl's nose scrunched as she made a puckered face, spitting and sputtering. "Blech! Ew! That's bad!"

Simon was walking a ways in front of her, he was pushing a large tarp-covered shopping cart stacked with supplies; he turned back, his eyebrow raised. "Bad? How bad?"

She sniffed the air and closed her eyes. "Hmm…if it snows any more…fifty rads, maybe a gray?"

"Hmm…not too bad then, but here," he said direly walking over to her, he held out a bottle of mouthwash. "Rinse out your mouth."

She groaned and rolled her eyes. "Do I have to?"

"Marceline…" Simon said sternly.

"But Siiiiiimooooon!" Marceline whined. "It tastes nasty and my daddy said that radiation doesn't hurt me!"

"Then neither will this," Simon quipped. "Besides, I've got a few theories about that myself."

Marceline crossed her arms and turned her head. "You can't _make_ me, Simon. You know how strong I am!"

Simon smirked, quietly pouring a capful. "Excuse me? I didn't quite hear that."

"I said…" she turned to face him and began to mouth out each word. "You…"

Simon created a funnel of spinning ice from atmospheric moisture and threw the capful into it, shunting the liquid into her open mouth. Marceline squeaked in surprise before leveling a glare at Simon. He simply smiled back at her, twisting the cap back onto the mouthwash.

Marceline sighed and swished the unpleasant liquid around her mouth and spat. "That was a dirty trick."

"A dirty trick for a clean mouth?" Simon beckoned her over to him. "Sounds like a fair trade to me."

Marceline smiled furtively and ran over to him, grabbing his hand. "Are we going to go into the city?"

Simon's brow furrowed somewhat, he was uncertain about something. "I don't know Marcie…we have more than enough supplies from that shelter we found. I say we keep walking."

"Sound advice," said a voice from behind. "But iffin' I can make a suggestion…" Marceline and Simon spun around to see a haggard looking soldier emerge from behind a felled tree, his weapon raised. "…Why don't you and your li'l friend there just leave your wagon and backpacks and get on out of here, eh? Less'n you want me to kill you and take it anyways. Either way, stuff's mine now."

Marceline tensed and bared her fangs only to have Simon gesture to her to back down. "We'd be happy to share with you, sir. As I said, we have more than enough. We could do without a dozen or so MREs, Marcie doesn't really like them anyway."

The soldier glowered from behind his worn helmet; Simon could tell by the way his uniform shifted on him with each movement that the man probably hadn't eaten much of anything in about a week. "Shaddup! An' get your hands up! No funny business now! I'll kill yous, don't think I won't!"

Simon slowly raised his hands and motioned at Marceline to do the same. "We'll give you what you need."

"I need _all_ of it!" he barked, the weapon in his hand whirring to life. "Now shaddup, drop all your stuff'n get out of here! I wont say again!"

Simon sighed and looked at Marceline. "On my signal…"

Marceline smirked and nodded.

With a minute gesture Simon lowered the temperature of their air to the soldier's right to a half-Kelvin above absolute zero. The volume of the air being chilled was tiny, but the abrupt change in temperature caused the warm air from all around to rush in with the fury of a hurricane. Simon's absolute control meant that the entire furious maelstrom was focused solely on the soldier's weapon, tearing it from his hands in an instant and flinging it into the woods.

The soldier barely had time to process what had happened before a 30-kilogram girl launched herself at his upper torso. She had bridged the 4 meters between them in under a second, hitting him with enough force to knock his feet out from under him and the breath from his lungs. He lay on the ground gasping for air; his goggles had shifted on his face, blinding him. He felt steely little fingers weave themselves around his combat-plast helmet. With horror he heard the sturdy helmet crack and shatter as she pulled it apart, the goggles torn away from his face. He looked up as a cute little girl knelt on his chest, her eyes glowing red as she smiled a terribly sharp smile.

She turned and looked at Simon. "Nap time?"

He nodded. "Nap time."

Marceline grinned and turned back to the soldier; his worn, etched face now the color of whey. "Nap time, you butt!"

Two tiny palms connected with his temples with an extremely precise amount of force, rendering the hapless soldier unconscious.

––––––––––––––––––––

Marceline walked back into the clearing, arms filled with firewood. She set it down next to Simon as he fiddled with the confiscated weapon.

"Whatcha got there, Simon?" she said curiously.

"It's a gun, Marcie," Simon said, running a hand over its shiny black surface. "A very advanced gun. It's a VeriTech Gamma-Ray Laser, or Grazer for short. Variable yield, fifteen kilojoules to fifteen megajoules, hundred gram Isomer battery good for ten million shots on its lowest setting…certified for, oh, a thousand years give or take."

"Nice gun?" Marceline chirped, not particularly caring as she stacked the firewood.

"No," Simon said lowly. "Things like this…the same people who designed this thing…built those awful bombs. Killed those people…it's a dark and twisted and terrible thing, Marcie. No, it's not a 'nice gun'. That's a contradiction of terms."

Marceline looked up from the fire and pointed. "The dingus is awake."

Simon turned and looked at the stirring soldier, his arms and legs were wrapped tightly in rebar. His eyes fluttered as he raised his head, groaning softly. He tried to move his arms, likely to rub his throbbing head; his eyes snapped open when he found that he couldn't move his hands apart. His head snapped around, his eyes wide as he struggled futilely against the steel.

"Whah?! What's going on?" he cried. "Where am I?"

"You're in the forest outside Meridian City," Simon said calmly. "You drew a weapon on me and my young traveling companion here. You really shouldn't have done that."

The soldier looked down at his trapped limbs. "What is this sh–?"

"Language!" Simon snapped, gesturing at Marceline. "There are children present."

The soldier shut his mouth and nodded slowly, he breathed in and calmed himself, focusing his thoughts. "Alright…would you please explain to me the nature of my predicament, good sir?"

"We've restrained you," Simon said glibly. "Well, Marceline did. We weren't sure we could trust you to not make us kill you."

"Restrained me," the soldier said with a nod, lifting his arms and shaking his legs. "Yes. And you did a mighty fine job of it, too. Couldn't find any rope?"

"Naw," Marceline said as she walked over to him. "We got plenty of ropes. Simon just wanted you to know what you were messing with." She leaned in and grabbed the rebar wrapped around his wrists; she twisted it up and out like it was a twist tie. "Get it?"

The soldier blanched and rubbed his wrists. "Y-y-yeah…I get it. What're you feedin' this kid, uh, Simon, right?"

Simon smirked somewhat and nodded. "That's right. Marceline's a very special girl."

"Best in the world, right Simon?" Marceline said with a pointy grin.

"Best in the world, Marcie." Simon nodded and pointed at a steaming box on the ground. "I bet Mr…?"

"Private Junior Earl Kaspbrak, Ikarian Company, Plizar Regiment," the soldier said, the response practically automatic.

"Er…right, pleased to meet you. Marcie, I bet Private Kaspbrak is quite hungry, isn't that right?"

Private Kaspbrak hadn't looked away from the makeshift bowl, a thin sliver of drool running from the corner of his mouth. "Uhhh…wh-yeah! Yeah, I'm kinda, uh, kinda…_starving_."

"Here," Marceline said, handing him the bowl. "It's beef ravioli, veggie crackers, jalapeño cheese dip and soup all mashed up together. I call it…**_mush_**."

Private Kaspbrak took the bowl and began shoveling the 'mush' into his mouth. "Kid, you could call it gonoherpesyphilaids an' I'd still eat it!"

Marceline stood over the man as he noisily ate, her eyebrow raised, gonna-herpa-what?

She handed him a re-sealable drink pouch. "Would you like some…er…'ee-lecktro-light ree-place-ment water'?"

Without looking up he snatched the pouch, quaffing the contents in a single gulp. "Phhfanks…"

"Marceline, come over here please," Simon said. "You can have my brownie if you like."

Marceline turned to Simon and grinned. "Not hungry Simon?"

"No," he said absently getting to his feet and walking over to a log near Private Kaspbrak. "You're the first living soldier we've seen in a while."

"I bet!" he said, belching loudly. "'Scuse me. Ever since we packed up shop, I bet you haven't seen much of anyone!"

"All signs say most survivors headed south." Simon looked up at the sky. "No doubt hoping for clearer skies."

Private Kaspbrak snorted. "Power to 'em! Me, I came out this way 'cause I figure no one else'll be around for miles. A couple burnt up cities all to m'self, and no pissant general tellin' me to fight the Channeler's hordes!"

"That monster is still active?" Simon said, noticing Marceline's now undivided attention. "What's it been doing since the war?"

"_Since_ the war?" Private Kaspbrak said with a bitter laugh. "War's still goin' old man! Just now it's the livin' world vs the Channeler. And guess who's winnin'!"

"Oh no…" Simon said, hand to his forehead. "Oh no. Ohnonononononononononono…stop! Shuttup! I don't want to hear it!"

"Look man, I'm sorry, I–" Kaspbrak started before being noticing Marceline's gestures to be quiet. Neither of them noticed the crown on his hip begin to glow.

Simon shot to his feet and pace back and forth, clutching his head. "What? No, I won't! I can't! That'd kill…what? The bomb? Why does he need it? Oh no…no they can't! I have to stop them!"

"Simon!" Marceline said. "What is it?"

"The Lich, Marceline!" Simon said, turning to her. "He's dying! He's going to die very soon!"

"That's great!" she said with a worried smile. "Isn't it?"

"No…The Lich knows he's dying!" Simon said turning to Kaspbrak. "He's been manipulating your generals into using a new weapon! Dropping a new sort of bomb!"

"Yeah…" Kaspbrak nodded. "There's the rumor going around, like, the barracks and stuff. They have this new bomb, one that uses dimension energy or somethin', and that they're gonna use it on the Channler soon."

"Idiots!" Simon said venomously. "It was the testing of that bomb in Dominion territory that birthed the Lich in the first place! His…I don't know…source, I guess, it was destroyed after he emerged from it. If they drop that bomb he's going to have a new source of power! He'll be invincible!"

"What are we going to do?" Marceline said, grasping Simon's hand.

Simon looked down at her, a warm smile on his face. "We're going to stop that bomb from falling, and we're going to kill the Lich."

Whew! There, I hope that made up for the long wait! Remember to let me know what you thought about my story, I encourage all forms of critique.


	4. Chapter 4

**Hey folks, sorry about the hold-up! Here's chapter 4, I've retitled it to conform a little better to the events in the Adventure Time canon. See if you can find the reference!**

**Be sure to let me know what you think in the reviews!**

THROUGH THE WRECKAGE

Chapter 4: Kismet

Marceline's heart raced as she closed the book. Her memories of the events described in Simon's diary were now given renewed depth, the added perspective of her beloved friend melding with her own recollections. She could remember up to a point, the situation with the soldier was decidedly familiar, but she knew that the diary was rapidly approaching a dark spot in her memory. Try as she might she could not remember their journey across what is now known as the Desert of Doom, a vast swath of absolute devastation that no life could reclaim. She levitated to the kitchen and got herself a drink, it was some strong red concoction that would probably eat through the glass if left to sit, but not much else could dent her constitution at this point. Marceline set down on the couch and levitated the diary to her hand. She sipped the pungent beverage as she slipped a talon between the pages and opened it to where she had left off.

"Date: March ? April ?! Oh, who gives a One Month, 14 Days AA (After Apocalypse).

"_I have sent Marceline to comb through our cart for what she wants to take with us. I have decided to discard the bulk of our supplies for we will need to move quickly if we are to intercept the military's penultimate blunder. I have the utmost faith in her ability to think rationally on this matter, she's nothing if not pragmatic. This is going to be no small undertaking, I can only pray that my willpower holds out, should the crown wrest control from me once again…It is against the wishes of the crown that I embark on this mission in the first place. The cursed thing thought me a coward, thought that I would quail at the prospect of the Lich being rejuvenated and put it on. Wretched, cursed, _**_l̴͝o͞v͘̕e̢l̡y̨, ͠bę͢͢a͞͝ut̛͢i͘͢f͏̨u̶̕l̶,͠ ͟se̸̴̢x̵̡y̶̨͜_**_…Glob, I hate you. Just…so much. So. So. Much._"

Marceline sighed and put down the diary, emptied her glass in a single swig, and continued to read.

* * *

Simon rifled through his backpack, searching for superfluous items that could be discarded in favor of food or water. Private Kaspbrack watched from afar, digging into his third MRE. The weary soldier had warmed up to them somewhat once he had figured out that they meant him no serious harm.

"Say, uh, Simon…" Private Kaspbrack said.

"Yes, Private?" Simon said, not looking up.

"Y'all ain't, uh, well…" he murmured hesitantly. "Y'all ain't exactly…_human_, are ya? You an' Li'l Marcie."

Simon paused for a moment before continuing. "What an astute observation."

"I've seen a lot of weird stuff over the past couple of weeks," Private Kaspbrack siad uncomfortably. "Wanted to know if y'all were mutants or magic'r'whatever."

"Magic," Simon said bluntly, removing a carton of cigarettes he had acquired for future barter. "I'm human but I've been changed, Marcie's a demon and of a renowned bloodline if I recall correctly."

Kaspbrack smiled and shrugged. "Whatever you say, old man. I figured that it was too early for muties to be springin' up. Yesiree, I've seen an' heard some downright crazy stuff, but I can't say I've ever heard of anyone willingly seekin' out the Channeler!"

"I must," Simon said as he rose to his feet. "There's still a whole world out there that's at risk so long as that thing lives."

"No doubt," he said with a nod. "But what're you gonna do to it, huh? You're an old man with some fancy wind powers and demonic granddaughter. This thing is, like, twenty feet tall! He can tear through tanks like they was paper, bullets just roll offa his shields, an' I'm pretty sure he tossed a nuke's fireball at one point! Seriously, it was like, I dunno, volleyball or somethin'!"

'_…"old man"! I'm only thirty-two!_' Simon shook his head slowly. "They're not wind powers."

Simon gestured at the rebar encasing his legs and closed his eyes. There was a peculiar hissing sound followed by a high-pitched warbling, three sections of the steel flashed blue and then white before shattering spectacularly. Kaspbrack yelped and jumped clear, his legs now free.

He leaned down to pick up one of the steaming shards, only to hiss and snap his hand back when he touched it. "Aaah! Shh…shoot! Man that's…cold?"

Simon nodded and smirked. "And that's when I'm not wearing the crown."

"And when you are?" the soldier asked nervously.

Simon looked down at the crown on his belt. "Let's just say that between me and the Lich, I'm the lesser of two evils."

"So, you think you'll be strong enough to beat the Channeler if you wear your magic crown?"

"That's right. When I'm not wearing it my powers are quite limited but extremely precise thanks to my ability to concentrate them. But when I wear the crown…well, you ever hear of the city of Tanhauser?"

Kaspbrack nodded. "Yeah, it got buried under a couple hundred feet of snow…along with half of the island."

Simon gestured meekly to himself. "Just by being there. I couldn't help it, the crown it…does things to my mind when I put it on. It speaks to me, tells me things, like how I knew what the generals were planning."

Kaspbrack grinned and nodded. "Hey, no judgment here, man. Everyone does something they regret. F'me it was the homecoming queen, f'you it was freezing a whole city. But, uh, does Marcie know?"

"Know what?"

He pointed at the crown and whispered. "That the crown makes you do things? That it talks to you?"

Simon shook his head. "No, she doesn't need to know that."

"No? She doesn't need to know that her grandpa, who's dragging her off with him to fight the Channeler, may just up and bury the country in ice because of some magical hat?" Kaspbrack chuckled sourly. "Whatever you say, Ice King."

"What did you call me?" Simon muttered, an inexplicable chill racing up his spine.

"Well, you got the crown, right? And yer thing is ice, right?" Kaspbrack shrugged. "If you're gonna go and fight that monster, you might as well have a superhero name or something, right?"

Simon paused and stared at Kaspbrack. "…'Ice King'?"

"Okay, so it's a working title," he said defensively. "But c'mon, it fits pretty well. If you die you die, but if you win you're gonna want a title, for the songs an' sh…stuff. Something to go with the whole 'cold vs hot' thing that'll go down 'tween you an' the Channeler."

"You've never even seen the Lich, Mr Kaspbrack…" a voice said from behind. They turned around to see Marceline, her backpack full of supplies and Hambo in her arms. "…Have you?"

Kaspbrack stammered and laughed artificially. "What? 'Course I have! I've been fighting that thing's horde for weeks! I've seen 'im with my own eyes!"

"Liar," she said flatly.

"Marceline!" Simon said sternly. "Mind your manners!"

"You've never been within ten kilometers of the Lich," Marceline said, unnervingly dismissive of Simon's scolding. "If you had, you'd know that he's cold, cold as death itself."

"But–" Kaspbrack began, lifting his hands in front of him.

"It looks like fire, but it's not. His flames are cold like you can't imagine, like ice that spreads," she muttered tonelessly.

"Marceline?" Simon could now see that she was trembling. "Marceline what's wrong?"

"The Lich killed everyone in my hometown," she said, a single tear rolling down her ashen cheek. "Killed my mommy…"

Simon approached her, reaching out. "Oh, Marcie, please don't cry."

She grabbed his outstretched hand in a burst of demonic speed. "Please don't go, Simon! Please!"

Simon winced, she was borderline hysterical, a wrong twitch and she could tear his hand clean off. "Marceline–"

"Don't fight the Lich, Simon! You'll die! Everyone who fights him dies!" she wailed. "He killed my mommy and all my friends, don't let him kill you too!"

Simon heard his knuckles pop and grimaced. "Marceline…let go of my hand, would you?"

Marceline blinked and looked down, she gasped and let go. "I'm sorry, Simon! I didn't mean–"

Simon smiled warmly and rubbed his hand, there were bloodless tears in his flesh from her claw-like nails. "Don't worry, Marcie. I'm fine. You were just a little scared, I understand."

Marceline grabbed Simon around the waist and looked up at him. Her bright red eyes, although welled up with tears, were bright and sharp. "Simon, please. You say you're immortal, but the Lich will kill you! That's what he _does_! Can't we just hide? Can't we just go back to the shelter and–"

"And _what_, Marcie?" Simon said fiercely. "Wait for him to make himself stronger? Wait for him to find us and kill us? What about everyone else, Marcie? He'll kill everybody if we don't stop him!"

Marceline looked down at her shoes and sniffed. "But…"

"But what?!"

Marceline bit her lip and looked up at him. "Nothing…promise me you won't die, okay?"

Simon brushed her hair out of her face and kissed her forehead. "I…can't promise that, Marcie. If saving the world means dying…"

Marceline pushed away from him, her eyes glowing red. "Then let it die!"

Simon blinked in surprise, his mouth open in shock. Marceline's hands shot to her mouth and she ran off into the forest.

Simon turned back to Kaspbrack. "Shi…shoot man, I don't even…"

Simon shook his head and gestured at Kaspbrack. "Whatever we leave behind, it's yours. Go down the road about fifteen miles and you'll find a shelter, it's full of food, water, medicine. Don't go into the room at the end of the hallway for very long, it's highly irradiated."

"Hey waitaminnite!" Kaspbrack said. "You're still up for this? Listen to me! Listen to the kid! You go near that thing, let alone _fight_ it, you're gonna die! An' if she's with you, she'll die too! You're best bet is to hope that it don't find you for as long as possible! For you and the kid!"

"I can't accept that," Simon hissed. "Any chance we have to kill that thing, any chance at all, is worth the risk. And if Marceline doesn't have me to watch out for her, to guide her, to save her –"

"Save her? Were you strokin' out when she bent steel with her bare hands?!"

"You don't get it…" Simon muttered. "Imagine if I wasn't here! Imagine if you had pulled your gun on her alone, angered her, scared her, she would have torn you limb from limb! Her powers are just beginning to manifest, with the right guidance she could be this world's savior, without it…I fear she may do terrible things. She's just like any child; she needs a guide, a moral compass to show her how to constructively channel her abilities. She _needs_ me."

"Yeah?" Kaspbrack said wanly. "You sure it ain't vice-versa?"

Simon blinked in shock. "What?"

"That crown of yours, it's messin' with your brain, yeah? You tellin' yourself you gotta look after her just so you got an anchor, somethin' that you can latch onto when that thing starts messin' with you. You keeping her around for her sake, or yours?" Simon stared at Kaspbrack for a moment, trying to formulate a response and failing. "Heh…I know I sound like some hick, but the army was payin' for my university courses. I'd have been a clinical psychologist if World War III didn't happen."

Simon stared at the ground, wringing his pale hands. "I am discontinuing this conversation."

"Hey, yer the Ice Wizard," he said quickly. "You said you're leaving me your stuff? If there's anything I can do to –"

"Directions," Simon said. "And I'll be taking your weapon."

Kaspbrack chuckled incredulously. "Directions, yeah, but think I'll be keeping my gun."

Simon locked his arctic white eyes on Kaspbrack, the air between them becoming an algid gulf. "Not a request, I'm afraid."

Kaspbrack felt his skin prickle and tighten as the air around him cooled at a supernatural rate. "R-right…you keep it. You'll need it more'n me."

Simon smiled coldly, displaying his inhumanly sharp teeth. "Now…directions."

* * *

Simon walked silently through the underbrush, his backpack filled with food, water, and other amenities. The Grazer slung over his shoulder thumped quietly against his abdomen. He approached a little girl seated on a log; there were shattered rocks and shredded trees around her, the unmistakable marks of anger and frustration as she had vented on them with fist and claw. "Marceline?"

She stiffend slightly upon hearing his voice and did not turn around.

Simon walked over to her and sat down next to her, she turned her head away. "Marceline…I know you find it hard to understand why I feel we have to do this, but this isn't something we can just ignore."

She didn't face him. "… 'We'?"

"…_I_ have to do this, Marcie," Simon said lowly. "Ever since I started to change from who I was to what I am now I've had these urges…" Marceline perked up slightly and Simon continued, "I sometimes feel compelled to freeze everything, to bring about an age of ice and snow the likes of which the world has never seen! …Ahem…I'm always aware that it would kill everyone on the planet but sometimes the compulsion is so strong I almost don't care. Just by being alive I'm a threat to this world and everyone on it! Doing the right thing, helping people, saving the world…it's how I can make it seem like I still belong here, like my continuing to endanger the world just by living is justified. I have to do the right thing whenever I can, to make up for…existing."

"How could you say that?" Marceline said quietly, turning to face him. "How could you think you need to prove yourself? You're the best person I've ever met, Simon!" she hugged him around the waist; just tight enough to be sincere, but restrained enough to be gentle. "If you have to do this, if it makes you feel good about being alive, I'll go with you and help you because…I love you, Simon."

Simon felt tears well up in his eyes, and he put a reassuring arm around her in return. "I love you too, Marcie."

* * *

Simon and Marceline continued to walk out of Meridian's city limits and entered into the suburban waste. Row after row of burnt out houses littered the landscape, their formerly neat and carefully divided lawns were now smashed and ashen, the immaculate topiaries grey and petrified along with the rest of the plant life. Cars lay strewn about, upturned and stripped by the mobs that had swarmed through the streets. Simon would occasionally give each one a half-hearted search for supplies, but if there had been supplies they had long since been stripped by other survivors. The suburbs told the tale of an immense migration of former citizens. Meridian had been one of the first major cities on the coast to be burned by the government's desperation; a single low yield weapon had leveled the industrial district, presumably out of military habit, and had left the population more or less unscathed. It was only with later cities that the military became increasingly thorough, presumably when the Lich's thralls from Meridian fanned out to cannibalize the neighboring cities. Citizens not turned by the Lich's dread magic promptly fled south, cutting a scavenger's swath straight through Meridian suburbia, leaving little in the way of items and even less in the way of food.

Simon stopped at a crossroads and took a piece of paper out of his pocket. "Alright. Mr Kaspbrack said that there are two ways to get across the big river coming up. One is the path he took, it's farther away and will take about four and a half days longer than option two, but he can personally vouch for its safety. The other way is about a half-week's walk along the riverside until we get to the interstate bridge; from there we follow the highway to the capitol, it's a straight line and should take us about a week. If we take number one, we'll be taking a safe route, but we'll be adding more than half a week to our journey. Thoughts?"

Marceline shrugged. "How long does it take for a bomb to hit the ground? A lot less than four and a half days, I bet!"

Simon nodded. "Still, I'd prefer the safer route…"

Marceline scratched her head before holding Hambo out in front of her. "What do you think Hambo?"

The toy's head lolled to one side as it dangled in her arms. "…"

"Hambo says 'coin toss'," Marceline said with certainty.

Simon smiled and reached into his pocket. "You're a wise man, Hambo."

Simon produced a coin and balanced it on his thumb and looked to Marceline. "Heads is option one, tails is option two?"

Marceline nodded and Simon prepared to toss the coin. In the moment he built up energy in his thumb to flip the coin, Simon felt an odd flowing sensation course through his body. The crown's influence had made him sensitive to extradimensional phenomena and he didn't know it, but this point in time was a crucial crossroads in the timeline. From this simple coin toss entire worlds could be created or destroyed. The coin leapt into the air with a metallic 'ping' as it tumbled upwards. Simon was acutely aware of every spin and every stray band of light caught on the coin's surface. Feeling the metal drop into his palm he instantly closed his fingers. He raised his fist and deposited the coin on the back of his other hand, waiting a few agonizing moments before looking at the result.

'_…Monkey's paw…_' raced through his mind in a fey low-toned voice that was neither his nor the crown's.

Tails.

"C'mon, Marcie," Simon said.

* * *

They walked in a straight line for nearly five hours in a row, both of them able to keep a strong pace throughout thanks to their respective abilities. Marceline effortlessly hopped over obstacles as they exited the broken city. Simon knew his limits and how far he could push himself, exhaustion was more or less a mental concern at this point, prone to take over during lapses in concentration. But Simon was now focused, his determination silencing the outdated mortal concerns such as fatigue and aching muscles. His world was gone, but the life-hating beast need not slaughter the world that would come after.

"Simon!" Marceline cried. "Look!"

Simon looked up at Marceline as she hopped up and down on an upturned car, she was pointing at a house. "What is it, Marcie?"

"That house! It uh, uh…" she said before pausing, gesticulating in frustration as the words escaped her. "It's just, I dunno, funny. Makes my eyes tingle, like looking at the sun…and it smells like, smells like…"

Simon looked over at the house; now that she pointed it out he could notice something decidedly odd about the place. It was almost pristine, the siding was dirty only in the superficial sense; a thin and sickly film of dust and fallout coated the otherwise immaculate surfaces of the building, a far cry from the torn and crumpled houses around it burned by the flash or obliterated by the debris and blast. There was no damage to the fragile vinyl panels, thermal, impact, or otherwise. The windows were unbroken without so much as a crack; the door hadn't even been pried open by scavengers as they thoroughly picked the city's corpse. Besides a coating of soot and ash, the house was _unnaturally_ unharmed.

The more he looked at the house the less and less he liked it. "I think we should just keep walking–wait, Marcie!" Simon said as Marceline leapt from the car and darted towards the house.

"Daddy!" Marceline cried out as she raced up the walkway flanked by petrified topiaries. "That house has magic in it, Daddy's magic! I can sense it!"

She cleared the steps up to the deck in a single bound and went straight for the door, obliterating it with a single swipe. She skidded into the foyer as splinters and chucks of the door scattered across the floor. Marceline looked around, sniffing the air and tasting for magic. She scampered down the hallway and turned the corner leading into the living room, gasping in shock at what she saw. On the wall were a sort of bizarre grinning face in a circle and the crust of what appeared to be milk smeared across it. On the floor before the circle were the remains of an eviscerated goat, its now dry innards a leathery pile of coiled rope on the floor.

Marceline shivered and took a step back when she felt a bony hand settle on her shoulder, she exclaimed in alarm and spun around. Looming over her was a ghoul wearing dark red ceremonial robes; the visible flesh was grey and wizened, its face was long and gaunt as its thin and desiccated lips parted over a set of yellowed teeth. Its 'eyes' were simply two huge pits of light that glowed inside the shallows of its sockets, framed by sharp angular cheekbones.

It's mouth moved with a ghastly creaking sound as a low exhalation exited. "Hhhhhhhhuuuuuuoooonnn…"

Marceline screamed and jumped back from the creature only to collide with another similarly garbed ghoul. It lurched forward with its arms outstretched and moaned. "Hhhhiiiiwuuuuun…"

Marceline hissed and shoved it with both her hands, the animate corpse hurtled across the room and smashed into a boudoir, the plate glass shattered with a sharp crash. The corpse crumpled to the floor, the body within the robe bent and jutted out in unnatural ways. The other one groaned in what could have been confusion as Marceline made a dash for the door.

With unnerving speed it spun around grabbed her by the hair, it's groans becoming more and more coherent. "Hiiigh Ooonnne…Aaaa-baaa-deee…"

Marceline growled and smashed her fist into the offending arm. It snapped cleanly in half, the damp partially rotted flesh made a muted ripping sound as it tore. Marceline then leapt into the air and swung a clawed hand into the ghoul's face, tearing away flesh and bone, leaving a ragged concave that began at the lower jaw and ended at the forehead. The light from within the former eyes now coursed out of the destroyed sockets. A sound similar to screaming accompanied the whirling maelstrom of animate magics that had rushed in to fill the void left by the forcefully removed soul. The jittering corpse collapsed in a heap on the floor.

Marceline panted and looked over at the broken ghoul, it was slowly crawling its way towards her, its body too broken to stand. She shuddered and ran into the hallway, looking down the hall that led deeper into the dark house. She could hear at least three more sets of feet shambling throughout the house; a pair of glowing white eyes turned the darkened corner and began to shuffle towards her.

"Aaaabaaadeeer…" it groaned. "Looord Aaabaaadeeer…"

Marceline blinked. "You know my father?"

"Faaatheeer?" It stopped and nodded. "Suuummoned…looord…beg…help…angered…sssoulsss…"

"He did this to you?" Marceline whispered. "You angered him and he did this to you?"

"Yesss…" it nodded again. "Blood of his blood…restore ussssss."

Marceline stepped back, another set of eyes appeared in the darkness. "I can't…I don't know how! I'm just a little girl!"

The creature lunged forward, yellow teeth bared. "Blood! Restore us!"

There was a hissing crack as a beam of red and orange light snapped into existence over Marceline's head. The hallway lit up for a scant moment as orange light filled the room. The brief flash bathed the darkened part of the hallway in bright orange light, for an instant Marceline could clearly see the ghoul that had lunged at her as the lance of gamma-ray photons skewered its torso, leaving a glowing hole the size of a softball in the animated corpse. She could also see the other ghoul behind the first one, hunched over with arm raised, recoiling from the onslaught. A half second later and another beam parted the darkness; this one sheared the lead ghoul's arm and shoulder clean from its body and went on to vaporize the raised hand of the other ghoul before completely coring its head. The hall went dark again and, through the twin lines of flashing white that now consumed her vision, Marceline saw the lead ghoul combust from residual heat as the one in the back slumped over onto the ground, visible only by the glowing ring of coals that was once its face.

Marceline felt a wiry arm loop around her midsection and yank her off the ground. She blinked futility as the flashes persisted, only seeing the odd limb wreathed in flame as the burning corpse flailed about in its throes.

Simon hurriedly rushed out the door, careful not to turn his back on the place. As he exited the door he saw another set of glowing eyes lurch out of the darkness, the beast lumbered towards him with arms outstretched. "Waaaaaaaaaiiiit…Pleeease!"

Simon paused; its posture was that of prostrate desperation. "What do you want with her?!"

"Her…" it shuffled forwards and into the cold grey daylight. "…BLOOOOOD!"

Simon gritted his teeth and set the grazer to maximum. The ghoul disappeared in a blast of razing light, the entire hallway burst into flames from the sheer magnitude of heat lancing through the air, the scorched wall at the end of the hall erupted into flame and exploded, tearing a meter-wide hole through the house. Simon stood back and leveled several smaller blasts at the house, etching lines of flame up and down the hitherto untouched vinyl; soon, the entire house was aflame.

As the fire belched fresh smoke into the sky Simon looked down at Marceline, she was still blinking and rubbing her eyes with one hand, trying to get the flash out of them, and tightly clutching Hambo with the other.

"Marceline…"

"Yeah, Simon?"

"What have we learned today?"

"Don't go into houses where my dad has been 'cuz they might be filled with bloodthirsty monsters?"

"Well, I was thinking more along the lines of 'listen to Simon', but I guess that works too."

"Simon?"

"Yes?"

"Thanks."

"Let's go."

"Okay."

* * *

They exited the suburbs two hours later as the sun began to set. Simon smacked his lips as he breathed in; there was more moisture in the air that usual, which meant that they were close to the river.

"Simon?" Marceline said.

"Yes, Marcie?" Simon answered.

"How big is this river?"

Simon smirked; he could hear it too now. "Big."

The great river, a massive tributary over three kilometers wide, was overflowing and rife with debris. Some cataclysm elsewhere had possibly broken a dam or caused a massive runoff, likely both. Though turbid and fast as a mountain rapid, it was a shadow of its former destructive glory judging by the high-water mark of devastation left behind; the water now only ebbed into the first 100 meters or so of the district that once bordered the mighty tributary. Buildings on the edge were now almost totally submerged, various debris and flotsam bobbed and spun in the whirling eddies created by the current-breaking edifices. The supply-laden roofs of cars belonging to fleeing citizens dotted the submerged streets; their former occupants, along with the rest of the city's population, had either long since fled or were no longer buoyant enough to float.

Simon and Marceline walked down to the waterside, now somewhere in industrial, and scanned the landscape. Simon clicked his tongue and shook his head. "I hadn't expected it to be this bad…"

"You think that's why Private Dingus told us to go downstream?" Marceline said. "All the bridges in the city are all smashed up by the flood."

"I guess I shouldn't have questioned him. He probably saw the flooding upstream, the state of other bridges…" Simon said dourly. "The only bridge on this river that could survive such a cataclysm is the one he told us to cross. Probably a local or something."

"So, now what?"

Simon looked around, his eyes squinting through his cracked glasses before lighting up. "How about a boat ride?"

Marceline looked out at the river, her demon eyes clearly seeing the enormous whirlpools and currents as they flung around jagged debris at dangerous speeds. "…How about 'no'?"

Simon gestured at a shape as it bobbed between two nearby buildings, snagged on the top of a dumpster. It was boat, a small dinghy with what appeared to be an adhoc fallout shield made from a tarp and PVC pipe. "C'mon Marcy! It's not like we'll try and cross the river in it or anything! If we stay to the side we'll be able to make better time than we could on foot. I bet we'd get there inside of a day!"

"I dunno Simon…" Marceline said slowly. "That river looks pretty rough."

"Nonsense!" Simon said with a dismissive smile. "I've sailed boats before!"

The two began to wade out into the murky water, Marceline held her backpack high above her shoulders so that Hambo wouldn't get wet. "Really? What kinds?"

Simon nodded. "Yes, really. I've piloted big ones, little ones, some with sails, and some without. All kinds, really."

"How come?"

"Part of my old job. I used to be an antiquarian, you see, someone who'd go out and look at items of interest and tell people what they're worth based on their history and quality." As the water deepened, Simon raised his backpack above his head. "I was a little more 'hands on' than most. I was on call for an eccentric museum proprietor who'd have me shipped off to exotic locals to appraise antiquities on-site rather than have them shipped and documented properly…he had me pull a Triple-A more times than I care to mention!"

"A 'Triple-A'?" Marceline said, raising her chin in vain as the water got deeper.

Simon turned around and plucked her from the water, placing her on his shoulders as he continued to wade. "Eh-heh…that was our little term for it. If the items were otherwise too difficult to attain legally he'd pay me extra to **A**ppraise, **A**cquire, and **A**bscond. A few sticky situations arose from that policy, I can tell you."

'_Ahhh yezz…Meester Petrikov, zho ve meet aghain! Only zees time I am ze veektor, me!_'

'_The Gauntlet of Will belongs in a museum (mine, for preference) Von Richter!_'

"You'd _steal_ things?" Marceline said, surprise clear in her voice.

Simon chuckled nervously and made an uncertain gesture. "Well, only if the items were of extraordinary historical significance or rarity, and were either in danger of destruction or hedonistic squander."

'_Give me the amulet, Lady Thornedyke! Your collection can do without it!_'

'_I'm afraid you'll have to…__**search**__ me for it, Mister Petrikov. Do be gentle…_'

'_…_'

"What's 'hee-dun-iss-tic skwan-der'?" Marceline said as she reached out for a floating piece of rope attached to the dinghy.

"Well, remember the story of the Hero Calibrex and the Gilded Dragon?" Simon said as he hoisted her up onto the boat.

"You fought a dragon!?" Marceline exclaimed excitedly.

Simon chuckled as he clambered onto the boat. "Heh heh, no…well, there was that one time, but it turned out to be Old Man McGucket XV in a dragon-shaped robot. Anyway, the point is that some people are like Hāz the Dragon in the story; they'll take something just so other people can't have it. They take and take and take and then they hoard it all away. Sometimes the things they took were very important to history of the world or to the heritage of entire peoples, so when they couldn't be bought or reasoned with, well…"

"Triple-A?" Marceline said with a happy smile.

"Triple-A."

"What happened when they didn't want you to take their stuff?"

"Err…"

'_Ve VILL meet aghain, Meester Petrikov! Und I VILL be zee veektor!_'

'_Hojojutsu knot, eh? I do so love a man who's good with his hands…_'

"I'll tell you later, when we run out of stories in the Enchiridion."

* * *

Simon bridged the conduit inside the outboard engine and it sprung to life, electric engine keening lowly as the dinghy lurched forwards. Simon sat down at the stern of the boat and carefully steered it between buildings and other obstacles. Marceline stood at the bow of the boat and watched for debris, her superhuman eyes more than capable of seeing objects in the muddy water from dozens of meters away.

"Left!" she said, her hand on her cheek as she propped up her head. "Right!"

"That'd be 'port', Marcie," Simon said, steering to avoid the debris. "And 'starboard'."

"Whatever…" Marceline said dully as she watched the muddy, detritus-laden water raced by. "Hey, Simon…"

"Yeah?"

"What you said before…" she turned around and looked at him. "…That was the first time you ever said anything about, y'know, before."

Simon drummed his fingers on the bench. "…Keep an eye out, Marcie."

"Simon!" she said insistently. "I told you all about my mommy and stuff, all you had to do was ask. Now I'm asking you, it's only fair!"

"Marcie, if you don't concentrate on what's ahead–"

Marceline rolled her eyes and spun around for a moment before turning back. "One tree, four tires, three branches, two cars, fourteen bodies, six cats, a dog, and a bunch of chickens. Not good enough? Left, left-right, right, wide turn left, sharp turn right, the rest you can just plow through. I'll let you know when to turn."

"…" Simon sighed and shrugged. "I don't know…"

"Why?" she said with a frustrated gesture. "You don't trust me? You don't think I'll understand?"

"No! No…it's not that," Simon looked at his feet. "It's just…it's a very painful subject for me. I lost people."

"And I didn't?!" Marceline snapped, before adding. "…Turn left now."

Simon complied and shook his head. "I'm sorry, Marcie, but it'll have to wait until later, I'm just not ready.'

"Whatever, Simon…" Marceline grumbled. "Whatever."

* * *

For the rest of the day the small boat thudded through the water at a slow but steady pace, although nowhere near the vehicle's top speed it was still many times faster than walking. Marceline continued her duties as watch, tersely shouting directions without looking back at Simon until darkness fell and so too did she fall asleep. Simon continued to steer the boat through the night, using the 300-watt floodlight at the front as a poor replacement for Marceline's keen eyes. As morning approached Simon estimated that he'd been awake for almost two days now, 'imagined' fatigued weighed heavily on his mind. In the dim light of the proto-morning Simon could see a crescent-shaped alcove in the riverside, almost a bay but not quite. There were the remnants of a city in the alcove, partially obscured by the water and heavily polluted mist that shrouded the area. Simon steered for the alcove, hoping to find a place to dock and rest–no, wait–get his bearings. He didn't need sleep anymore, right? He knew he didn't need sleep…how? When had he discovered that? Had the crown told him? Had it been lying? Was it trying to trick him? Was it–?

A light snore drew his attention. Marceline stirred lightly under a blanket.

She was right about it not being fair, but it didn't change the fact that in order to tell her about himself he would have to explain the nature of the crown and its effect on him. For whatever reason, contemplation of that prospect filled him with an unshakeable dread; if she knew what it was doing, if he could no longer represent the self-control he had endeavored to impose on her…

"No…" Simon muttered. "She wouldn't leave me…would she?"

He looked over to her; Marceline lay curled up near the front of the boat, fast asleep. In the serenity of sleep she looked just like any other little girl, vulnerable and innocent, a dangerous assumption to make when considering the truth of the matter.

'_S͘he̸ w̶o̸ul͠d̢, ̧y̡o͞u͟ kno̴ẁ…_' the crown hissed. '_Léa͞v̨e you̧.͠_'

"No she wouldn't," Simon whispered. "She's better than that."

'_Ḩa! Sḩe's n͏ot ̶l̸i̕k̵e͜ a ̶n̶or͘mal҉ ̡child͝, S͜i̢mo̸n! Y̶oú'͟ŗe i̛m͏p͟osing̷ ̨yǫur val̵ues̛ ͏an͟d҉ ̸mora̶ls o͝nto a̧ ͟mo͡n̸s̷ter!̷ S̛he̵ ͡sta̢ys̀ ̸wi͢th͡ you ҉out̨ of̷ ̷ćo̸nveni͠e҉nc͠e͡,̛ f̡o̢o͜d,͟ an͝d̡ a͏t̴te̵ǹt͝i̢on, r̵a͢ther ̕like̢ a̕ ̧c͠ąt́ ͢o͟r͞ ́a wíld do͏g.͠ The i͞ns̸ta̴ņt ͟y͟ou show ̕w̴eąk͏neşs͡,͡ the ̶in͝śt̶a̵nt ̀y̕ou͜ f̶al̡ter͠,͞ ̨s̷h̢e'll b͘e ͠o҉ff! Bu͢t̵ p͢ro͜b̷ab͠ly n̴ot̕ ͏b̨efore̛ s̡he mau̕ls ̢y̕o̵u̵ ͏f͘or͠ y͞o̢ur t͏ro̕ub̢le̛!̡_'

"You're wrong! She's just a little girl; she needs someone to teach her how to act, is all." Simon gritted his teeth, the terrible cold of the crown's grip fastening around his mind.

'_That̴'s __**̴al͝l**__ it̛ ͝wil͞l ̷e͡v̀er҉ ̨b͢e͏,͟ ̕S̡im͜on!_' the crown retorted. '_A͏n ̨a͠c͡t͡!̛ No͘n҉ȩ o̴f ͢t͞h͜is͝ 'he͢ro͢' ̴ma̡l҉a̛rk҉e̵y̛ ͟w͡ill ac͏tua͏ļl̛y̵ sti̢c̢k ̡wi̴th her,͏ ̀a̡l̶l͞ y̸o̕u'̛re ͟d͘o̸in͡g̀ i̸s̨ ̡tea̛c͜h͡in̷g҉ ̶h͢e̕r͠ ̵h̵ow̕ ͠tǫ ͟prete͟nd t͠o͝ be͡ ̵nor̵m͝al!̡ I k̛n̷o҉w̸ y̷o̧ų ͝see i͜t, ̛yo͜u͜ ̶mor̡t̕a̸l̴ ͢f҉òol, ͞t҉he w̶a̷y̛ s̡he pr̨et̷ęņd҉s͡, th̵e w̵a̡y ͢s͏he ͜a̧cts.̡ ́A̴ll you̶r̢ ͟serm͏on̴s, all y̷o͘ur sp̷e͘ech̨ȩs,̢ ͜th́e̛y'̴re ͞al͢l ju̴s̵t̨ wo͡r͜ds t͞o h͜e͜r͢! ͘In̡ ͞thé ̧e̸n͏d̴ ͟she̕'̕ll͞ only ͝b҉e͝ ̕wh͜ąt ̴şhe has ̡t͞o ̴be ̶tò ́su҉rv̡ivȩ a͞nd ̶thrive̴,̡ án ani͡ma̷l and ͘n͞othin͞g m̷o̴r͡e!_'

"Shut up," Simon said breathily. "Shut up, you yammering headgear!"

'_O͏h͜,͏ ̧g͘ood on͡e͘! ͜I͢'ll add̴ ͜that͞ to ̵my l̸ist̛ o҉f 'P̵e͡trík͟o͘v Zinge̛ŕs'͢!_' it said sarcastically. '͢_T̨he ̴s͜o̷l̢d̵ier ̷w͝a̧s͞ ̕rig͟ht!͝ Mar̴ce͜l̢in͝e͡ ͏is ҉al̸l t̶h͠at ́k͏e̛ep͟s you from ̢m͢e,͘ S̴i͘mon, and͠ ͞s̛hę d̴oes̴n'̵t ̨e̡ven̶ ̨c̀a͞re ab̛o̡ut ̡y͞o̡u͟!͠ ͘How d͢o͢e͞s ̕i҉t͢ f͢e͠e͟l, to͜ k͢no̢w ͡tha͘t ̨y̛our͘ ͡sa̢lva͜t́ion, ̨y͢our͝ ̧ve͡ry͝ ŕeason͝ t̨o l͞iv͏e,̕ ͏is ͡a soci͜o͜p͘ath҉ic ́he͏ll͡sp͠ąw͢ǹ w̴h̴o ͡w̨i͘l̕l ̴lea̶ve̵ ̀y͝o͘u ̕i̶n͘ m̶ỳ cl͞ut͞c̵he̛s̛ t͏he̵ i͏nsta̛n̴t͏ y͘o͝u bore̶ hèr̡? ͜H̨o̧w d̢oes͜ i̧t ͢f͢e̢e͠l͞, P̷e̡tr̛ikov͘, to kno̶w ̵thàt y̛our ļi̢fę ͞m̕eaǹs so litt͏le t̡o͡ ͢one͞ y̷o͘u͝ ̵l̵o̧v͡e͢ s̡o̶ mu͘c̡h͘?_'

"I know what you're trying to do, and it won't work," Simon said with a hard, steely voice. "Even if you were right, even if she didn't really care about me, that wouldn't stop me from caring about her, from loving her. So long as she lives, I'll have cause to fight you and the willpower to win."

'_So l̷on͡g as͜ she̢ ̵l͞i̕ves͠, ̛éh?̀_' the crown said, its voice thick with sardonic amusement.

"That's right."

'_We͞'̨l͜l̕ c̸on̸t͟in̸úe͏ ́t̷h҉i͟s ̀a͟r̀gu͡m͏ent͝ at҉ a ̢lat̶er da͏t͡é. ̨U̷nt̨i̶l th̷en,͏ ̛I l̷ea͟v͘e͠ ͘y̴o͏u̡ ͞with ̕a ̨piec̨e ̀of ar͟càn͏e w͝i͢sdom̛…̧_'

Simon raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

'_…D͜o͢n͟'̵t̷ ͝driv̀e yo̴u͘r boa͠t ̸int̡o ͞a͢n҉ ąlco̷ve̕ ̧f̵i̶lleḑ wi͜t͞h̶ n̵a̧va͟l m͘i͢nes̀._'

"What?"

The boat lurched to one side as it bounced over a mine, triggering the fuse. The dinghy managed to put ten meters between it and the warhead before it detonated. A thundering boom echoed through the morning mist and an enormous grey-white pillar of water thirty meters across climbed eighty meters into the air. The tiny boat and its occupants were scattered like motes of dust by the blast, hurled almost one hundred meters through the air before plunging back into the cold grey water.

The sun rose over the horizon.

**Alright, so there'll be a tiny hiatus for TtW while I work on The Corridor and The Nightmare Engine. I find that taking a break from a piece to work on another really helps me to keep fresh on the idea. Be sure to check out my other works and let me know what you think!**


	5. Chapter 5

**And here it is, the much delayed and marginally anticipated Chapter 5. I wanted this to be out before Simon and Marcy aired, if only to preserve my motivation to finish it (oh well...). I figured that after the canon stuff came out it would outdo my own paltry attempts at inciting feels and whatnot, this would in turn kill my motivation to complete the chapter. **

**Turns out the reality of the situation is much stranger.**

**See, I have little to no self control when it comes to Simon and Marcy stuff, so when the ep was leaked I watched almost immediately and well...it kicks the hell out of my work, natch, but for different reasons. Simon and Marcy was so sweet, so heartwarming, and just so dang cute that I couldn't get my depress on and write summa dat apocalyptic dread, at least, not without effort. Anyway, here's chapter 5, in all it's 'glory'.**

**Also, in case you were wondering about how I reconcile my story with the canon events. Well, I'm happy to say that my stuff doesn't outright contradict too many canon things (except for bits here and there I'll clean up later), so try to imagine this story ending ~1-2 weeks before the events of Simon and Marcy, after they fail to stop the NecronomiBomb (spoilers?) and all the candy mutants start springing up.**

**Enjoy and let me know what you think in the reviews!**

THROUGH THE WRECKAGE

Chapter 5: Breaking Points

Princess Bubblegum sat in her laboratory, her face pressed into the dual eyepiece of a large microscope. She licked her dry lips as she watched the event unfold before her; she had recently completed her first foray into nano-sucro-biology. All of her work before had been the simple manipulation of existing candy gene-seeds, but this new method of assembly could allow her to not only splice single genetic structures together, but take them apart and reassemble them as she saw fit! She could be on the greatest breakthrough in the history of the Candy Kingdom! This was the culmination of all her hard work; the tiny candy-cell before her quivered as it sat on a bed of agar, the biologically neutral gel was infused with a special fructose-sucrose-ribose-xylose medium of her own design, if the cell couldn't divide here, it couldn't divide anywhere. The cell quivered, its sucro-protien shell dimpling at opposite ends, it was dividing!

There was a sound in the lab, it could have been a light breeze hitting the half-open window just right, but to the princess's astute senses she divined the source immediately. "What did I say about breaking into my lab without my permission?"

She felt a feather soft breath on her neck followed by a wry chuckle. "That it was puckish and impulsive?"

Bubblegum spun around to see a waifish vampire girl hovering a scant few centimeters from her face, her lush raven-black hair hovered and undulated like a writhing cloud. "Yes, but I think the exact phrase was '_don't_'! …How have you been keeping, Marceline?"

"Better'n you, Bonnie! Do I see some puce in that hot-pink mane?" Marceline said, gesturing at Bubblegum's somewhat frazzled hair. "FWI, I know a guy who does hair, just in case you…y'know…"

Princess Bubblegum quickly looked up at her hair before rolling her eyes. "What do you want, Marceline?"

Marceline donned a hurt expression. "Is it so unbelievable that I'd just want to drop in and say hello? Maybe hang out with an old friend? Get her out of her dingy old laboratory and give her a break from…actually, what's going on here?"

Princess Bubblegum smiled insincerely and clapped her hands. "Oh yes! And we can paint each other's nails, drink tea, and talk about boys!" the smile vanished from her face instantly. "Seriously, why are you here?"

"Is that an agar plate filled with a bio-candy growth medium?" she said, dabbing her finger in and licking it. "A _custom_ bio-candy growth medium?"

"No, it's a–er–actually…yes. What?"

"Been around the block, Bonnie," Marceline said, examining the other machine. "I've dabbled in assembling biomass over the eons. What are you up to here?"

Princess Bubblegum sighed and gestured at the machine. "That's a nucleotide discombobulator. It allows me to negate the chemical bonds holding nucleic acid together, pulling them apart without destroying the component chemicals. This means I can basically pull apart DNA and put it back together in a unique way."

Marceline blinked, she was sure that someone somewhere would be aghast at Bonnibel's attempts to play glob, but she wasn't that someone. "Uh-huh. So, trying to create life? I can help, you know."

"I was doing just fine, thank you! In fact, my first Bubblegum–Brand™ cell just got through dividing, so there!" Bubblegum lowered her face to the eyepiece, the smirk on her face disappearing at what she saw. "Oh…oh, glob blobbit!"

"Glob had nothing to do with this, Bonnie!" Marceline said with a laugh.

"It broke down mid telophase, neither cell has chromosome pairs! There must have been a flaw in the covalent bonds of the cytosine and guanine…"

Marceline looked at the chemical readings on the microscope read-out, "But if that were the case there would have been a uracil byproduct that would have activated the repair enzymes. Assuming, of course, you included repair enzymes…"

"Of course I did, what do you take me for?" Bubblegum turned to Marceline, a scowl on her face. "Back to the drawing board!"

Marceline looked into the eyepiece. "Well, they divided, didn't they? That means they _were_ alive, right?"

"A chromosome is no use if it can't divide more than once without destroying itself!" Bubblegum said in exacerbation. "I'll have to re-design the whole thing!"

Marceline glanced over her shoulder at the seething princess, a small mischievous smirk tugged at the sides of her mouth. She hovered over to the petri dish in the microscope aperture, pointing a finger at the agar. "Iterum vivere."

A small spark leapt from her fingers and she looked back into the eyepiece, the two cells had already begun to divide. "There you go, Bonnie! Good as new!"

Bubblegum gasped and hurried over to the microscope. "What did you do?!"

"Just gave it a bit of git-up'n'go," Marceline said with a wry shrug. "Geez Bonnie, I figured you'd be happy that you wouldn't have to rebuild an _entire_ DNA sequence from scratch!"

"You used necromancy!" Bubblegum said, adjusting the visualizer. "You forced a faulty DNA sequence to keep on replicating! With each mutation it'll become more and more hideous, a pus-spewing abomination with unknowlable motives and a all-consuming need to devour everything in its path!"

"…And?"

"Urrrgh!" Bubblegum exclaimed. "If I can just adjust the lens I'll be able to measure cell division and maybe concoct a inhibitor agent…"

"But Bonnie…" Marceline said in an affected manner, opening up the petri dish. "It's _our_ baby and we need to show it love!"

A single translucent vermiform tendril slithered out of the dish and reached towards Marceline, a series of insistent wet noises issued from the unseen monstrosity. It landed on her arm with a wet slap, causing Marceline to hiss and withdraw. "Little pooh-brain bit me!"

Bubblegum uttered a small cry of alarm and disgust as a head began to force its way out of the dish, a malformed and twisted doppelganger of Marceline's head. Its left eye ran down its drooping face, a single wet pupil wiggling in clotted socket. Its long raven hair was thin and saturated with a sort of oleaginous liquid, clumps of congealed mucus dripping from its form. The mouth was a down-turned and sagging orifice filled with twisted yellow teeth. The moist shiny skin was almost opaque and seemed to run like gelatin, giving the twitching obscenity a decidedly melted look. Another series of clotted odious sounds emanated from the beast's maw, this time accompanied by the correlative wagging of a long bruise-purple tongue. "…ackpthh…eeechhh…Bohhn-neee…itchh…"

"Awesome!" Marceline said with a broad grin, jabbing a thumb at the expanding outrage against nature. "See, _this_ is why we should hang out more! Hey! Drippy! Can you say 'Marceline'? Say 'Marceline'!"

"Mu–ackkkth–Marrccl–ECH–Leeeee!" the thing croaked as it tumbled off of the table, hitting the hard tile with a loud splat, spreading a vile green fluid on the floor.

Bubblegum lowered her wrist communicator from her mouth and called out to Marceline. "Marceline, stop teaching it words! Blob it, this is all your fault!"

"Bonnie, language!" she said, clasping her hands over what could have been ears on the creature's head. "There are children present! …Ew, it feels like a wet Stretch Armstrong…"

"Marceline!" Bubblegum said, pointing at a large yellow sign bearing a pictograph of a candy person approaching a mass of tentacles, the pictograph was in a circle with a large diagonal line through it. "Don't touch the abomination! Either way, I just called in Order 11–9–23–6, so you might want to take a step back."

Marceline translated the alphanumerical code in her head. "Waitaminute…'K–I–W –F'? What does that mean?"

ELSEWHERE

Peppermint Butler burst into the Banana Guard rec-room, "The Princess wants the flamethrower!"

"The Princess wants the _what_?!" a Banana Guard said incredulously.

"That's what she said, now move!"

THE LAB

Marceline hovered above the pitiful creature; it was little more than a mass of squirming tendrils attached to an asymmetrical lump of flesh and not-quite-limbs, on top of which was a grotesque imitation of her own head. "C'mooooon…you let Cinnamon Bun live!"

"He's part of an ongoing experiment and you know it!" Bubblegum said from behind an upturned table.

"Marquise Visage Choquant, what do you think about Bonnie's decision here?" Marceline said, setting down in front of the writhing horror.

"Bohhhhn-neee ACCCCKPTH!" 'Marquise Visage Choquant' choked before vomiting a copious amount of whey-colored pus onto Marceline's red boots.

"Augh! Sick!" Marceline exclaimed in disgust, shooting into the air just as a Banana Guard wearing a large campaign hat with four upturned brims burst into the room.

"Ech?" Marquise Visage Choquant spat curiously. "Ackpth!"

"Yeah, _math_ you too!" the Banana Guard said before raising his flamethrower and unleashing a torrent of flame.

Marceline sat down next to Bubblegum behind the table as the smell of burning sugar permeated the room.

She looked down at her filthy boots. "Dude…weak."

Bubblegum sighed and rolled her eyes. "C'mon, I'll clean them up…"

* * *

The room was filled with all sorts of weird gizmos and machinery. Bubblegum took Marceline's boots over to a large spherical machine and tossed them in. "Here. My relativistic cyclotronic stain-deleter should take care of this mess. It accelerates the article to a percentage of the speed of light in a vacuum, causing the tremendous centrifugal force to separate out anything that isn't boot. Then it's just a cleaning blast of micro black holes to mop up the rest!"

"Four Gs, Bonnie!" Marceline exclaimed. "Don't you have a washing machine?!"

"I _did_…then I found out that a number of my early citizens were water soluble and one burst pipe away from a disaster!"

"Ah," Marceline nodded. "Fine, just promise me they won't implode or become a hyperintelligent shade of red."

Princess Bubblegum rolled her eyes. "Oh Marceline! When has that ever happened except for that one time?"

"_You_ try living with a Oovoolooh, dude was crazy annoying!"

Bubblegum laughed and shook her head. "Okay, enough fun and games Marcie. What brings you to the castle?"

Marceline sighed and tossed a ratty old book onto the table in front of Bubblegum. "Check it."

"It's Ice King's…journal?" Bubblegum said, picking up the tome and opening it to a page marked by a strip of dragon leather. "I take it this is your bookmark?"

"Yep," she said uncomfortable with the way Bubblegum was looking at her.

"…Why do you–?"

"Ice King's important to me, okay?" Marceline said, levitating the book out of her hands. "He looked after me back when I was a little kid."

"Yes, I know," Bubblegum said quietly. "After Finn and Jake invited me over for 'Pity the Ice King' Day I did some research, learned some things."

"And you never talked to me about it because…?" Marceline said, irritation clear in her voice.

"Oh? And how, exactly, was I supposed to broach _that_ topic?" Bubblegum said, throwing up her hands. "Was I just supposed to say 'hey Marceline, I know all about your history with the guy who repeatedly kidnaps me and forces me to read his creepy gender-swap fanfics about my friends! I found out about it via invasive research and study, and not by talking to you!' How do _you_ think you'd react?!"

Marceline paused and rubbed her arm in embarrassment. "I'd probably turn into a giant bat or something and rip stuff up, Nightosphere–style."

"Yeah," Bubblegum said. "Or something similarly dramatic. I didn't want to say anything because I knew that if you wanted to talk about it with me, you would. What kind of friend would push such a subject?"

"The kind that bites trees and rocks…" Marceline muttered.

"What?"

"Nothing," she said quickly "Anyway, the reason I'm here is I've come across a part that's incomplete, there's about three days or so missing and I can't remember any of it. As I read the journal my mind began filling in the blanks. Simon's perspective sort of jogged my memory, but after that last passage…it's like that one time when you and me experimented with zanoits and Cyclops tears and–"

Princess Bubblegum blushed and raised her hand to stop her; she began thumbing through the book again. "No need for personal reference, you had a black out, I understand. There doesn't seem to be any pages missing, and after the incident he seems to be increasingly…"

"…Ice Kingish," they said in unison.

"I need to know what happened in those three days," Marceline said quietly. "I…I need…help. Yours, specifically."

"What makes you think I can help?" Bubblegum said wryly.

"You've got to have some kind of brain scan doodad or whatever, right?"

Bubblegum smiled. "Why on earth would I have a 'brain scan doodad'?"

"Well, because you're…you?" Marceline said, rubbing her arm.

Bubblegum pressed a button on a console. "You lumpin' better believe it!"

"So you'll help me?" Marceline said excitedly.

"Of course!" Bubblegum said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Nothing I won't do for a friend in need. Unfortunately I don't actually have a working 'brain scan doodad'…yet. But I think I have something that's just as good!" she brought down a large circular imaging device. "My Aura Visualizer! Ice King–er–Simon had this journal with him always, and was likely very attached to it. Therefore, since it was an object of a magical being's focus, it will likely have a psychic aura imprint on it. I just need to calibrate the visualizer to be sensitive enough to separate it from the other more Ice Kingish aura imprints."

Marceline scratched her head. "What will that accomplish?"

"If I can hook it up to a aura transcription matrix, I'll be able to record information from the aura, thoughts, feelings, maybe even a crude image. I can't promise anything, but I'm confident I can at least get you something!"

Marceline looked down at the book and back to Bubblegum. "You have an aura visiualizer but not a brain scanner?"

"Auras are sort of like echoes of the soul, well, actually, in function they're closer to a 'smell'. They stick around long after the soul has passed. Psychic energy is created by thoughts and feelings, the transcription matrix absorbs the aura, deconstructs it, and renders it into useful data." Bubblegum said, punching in the necessary programs for the machine to work. "That's not something you want to do to a living person."

"Okay…how long will this take?" Marceline said as she handed Bubblegum the journal.

"It's already done! I just have to hook it up to the visualizer and peel away the other auras attached to it, Mr. Petrikov's aura should be the easiest to identify…okay, that's Ice King…more Ice King…More–OH MY GLOB!"

"What is it?" Marceline said as she looked at the visualizer, the book was surrounded by an undulating aura of void-black, an utter absence of light and color.

"Whatever left this aura behind was a being of such malevolence, such manifold depravity, that its mere aura scars reality itself!" Bubblegum said in horror.

"Oh," Marceline said flatly. "That's just Gunter. I guess he read it too, huh?"

Bubblegum nervously filtered out the dark void and resumed filtering through the auras. "Okay…Ice King…Ice King…more Ice King…there! That stable sort of blue-orange one. That should be it!"

Marceline clapped her hands and patted Bubblegum on the shoulder. "Great! …Now what?"

"Now I run it through an interpreter and wait for the results," she said with a satisfied tone in her voice.

"How long will that take?"

"Two weeks," Bubblegum said before adding. "Give or take."

Marceline shook her head and grabbed the visualizer. "No, NO! I'm not waiting two glib-blobbed weeks for this story to advance! You! Soul Fart or whatever you are, you're gonna tell me exactly what happened during the three lost days or I'm gonna bond you to a soul stone and throw you into the Nightosphere! Pretty aura like you, you'd get passed around like currency down there!"

The aura recoiled and undulated nervously. It twitched and reformed, a picture slowly forming in the visualizer.

"See?" Marceline said with a smirk. "You just gotta tell these things what's what. Now, let's see what happens…"

* * *

"…Simon," a familiar voice cooed.

"Gawuhyef…" he mumbled through the haze of sleep, likely some hybrid of 'go away' and 'yes?'

"Simon, get up!" Betty commanded.

"I'm up…I'm up! Glob!" Simon said, reluctantly separating himself from the warm embrace of his bed. "You liberate a seven ton gold statue of Buddha and be a spring daisy the next day!"

"Simon!" she said again, more urgently this time. "Get up!"

"What?" he muttered, now noticing that his room was completely dark and the bed had been replaced by a curious sense of weightlessness. "Betty? Where are you?"

"Wake UP!" said a female voice; this one was higher in tone and far squeakier, the voice of a young girl. "Simon!"

Simon's eyes snapped open, it was very dark and the air around him had strange chunks floating in it. Simon raised his hand to his face and realized that it wasn't air, but water. He could tell by the lack of sensation that the water was roughly his current internal body temperature, a mite above freezing. A surge of panic rushed through him.

Marceline.

She was tough and never seemed to mind the cold, but she still needed air. Could she swim? He'd never asked. Stupid! Stupid!

Simon blew a bubble and followed it to the surface, gasped and spat the foul tasting water as he breached, his head snapped around, desperately looking for any sign of his friend. "Marceline? Marceline! Where are you?! MARCELINE!"

"No…" Simon exclaimed in despair. "Please, no…"

He reached down and grasped the crown. "You! Tell me where she is!"

The crown remained silent, pushing a sort of mocking static into his mind.

"Tell me!" he bellowed. "Tell me or I'll cut you loose! I'll cut you loose and let you sink to the bottom of this blasted river! How long until someone finds you again, _if_ they find you again?!"

"…_You̧ ẁou̷ld̕n͞'t d͝a͘r̴e.̸_"

"Oh? You sure?!"

"_Y͠e҉s.̴ Y͢o̧u are ̛a͘ w͜e̛akl̷i͏ng ͠án̶d͢ a ̴cowàrd. ̕W͡it҉ho̴ut my pòw̨ers ͢yo̕u ẃould ͘d͜i̢ȩ,̀ Pet̴ri̸kov.͟_"

He pulled the crown up to his face, glaring into the red crystals. "Then I'll die! THEN I'LL DIE! Look into my mind and tell me that I wouldn't rather die than live with you!"

The static withdrew from his mind and the jewels glowed. "_S͜o͟ ̷you wơul͝d. Fi͘nd ͡he͘r̴ y͠ours̛e͜l҉f̴._"

Simon felt his eyes begin to tingle, the horrible visions that had assailed him during his first donning of the crown rushed around him; things beyond description and Euclidian perception flooded the sky and sea. "What have you done? Where is she?!"

"_Lo͢o͏k͜ ̴dǫwn, ̨y͘o̷u s͘t͞ub҉b͏or͏n ḿ̨̨͓̘̝̳̮̜̗̹̎̊̽ͤ͑ͪ͌ͦ̿̈͟e͈̠̥̮͚͔̯̩̖̙̩̹͉̫̭̒̉͐̑̑̊̈̉ͯ̏͗͂͛ͪ̇ͪ̆͟͝aͧ̀̎̅̄҉̢̼͍͎͍̺͇̬́͠n̷̴͑͂ͥ͑̍̀҉̛̜̼̹̮͓̬̟̠̠͖͍͖̳̗̯̱̕ĩ̴̷̡̖̖̮̼̪͕̼̬̗͔̠̤̦̝̲̰͉̻́ͬ̀̎̒̒ͧ͂̀ͮͪ̉͘͘ę̢͉͉̺̠̠̼̯̬̹̠͈͔̣̣̺̩̖̑ͣ͂ͫ͒̀̈́̔̂̒̆̇̈́ͨ͂̿͒ͯ́͝ͅ-̵̨̼̤͚͓ͨ͑̓ͧͪͥ̄̆̇̒ͩ͛̓̕͜͞h̃͐ͤ̿͆͊̉̇́̂ͯͫͩ̌̔̚͏̡̛̱̦͍̣̮̳̙̬͍̳̜e̾ͬͮ͋̿ͨͬͩ̍ͥ҉̢̜̘̝̟̳̖̪̀̕͡a̡̳̺͚͎͙̭̙̯̰̿͗͐ͫ́d̆ͦͮ̔ͫͥ͗̋ͭ͗ͨ͆ͩ̆҉͖̭̩̪̰̬͍̩̟͟ͅ,̴̵̺̼̯̺͉̬̙͇͆́̇ͭ͢͞_" the crown said petulantly.

Simon looked down; through the water he could see a small shape suspended thirty meters below him. "Marceline!"

Simon ducked back underneath the water; he locked on to her and exhaled before inhaling hard. He resisted the impulse to cough as water flooded his lungs and stomach, his buoyancy was negated and he quickly began to sink. He passed the wreckage of obliterated ships and sinking corpses, all victims of a war long since lost; off in the murky distance he could see the fractured frame of a battleship torn asunder by the same kind of mine that had felled their boat. He should have checked the cities for military maps, he should have slowed down…he should have told her about himself. Less than thirty seconds later and he set down on the bottom next to Marceline, silt and debris fluttered away from his feet from the impact. She was very still but his eyes could clearly see that her aura was bright and vivid. She was still alive.

He scooped her up in his right arm and raised his left hand, stopping momentarily to gather a waterlogged Hambo from the silty bottom. He raised his hand again and froze a huge block of ice above him. He grabbed the block and held on as it rocketed to the surface. He gritted his teeth as he felt his eardrums rupture and his blood boil from the pressure differential. The ice block leapt from the water and skipped across the surface, Simon strained with concentration as he willed the vehicle across the alcove.

A scant three meters from dry land and the ice block tagged a partially submerged car and exploded into a thousand pieces. Simon was sent sprawling towards the sooty pavement, he held on tight to Marceline, instinctively shielding her with his body. He turned in the air so that his back would absorb the brunt of the impact. He let out a curdled waterlogged scream as his ribs and right shoulder shattered like glass against the asphalt. His right arm went dead and Marceline was sent tumbling across the ground, Simon set his heel down and stopped his skid across the pavement. Simon rose to his feet before tripping over his now pulverized ankle. He loudly regurgitated all the water that he had ingested into his lungs and stomach and pounded his fist against the concrete.

"Heal me, damn you!" he gurgled fiercely.

The crown glowed and vibrated, a powerful surge of magic coursed through his body as bones knit back together and tissue miraculously mended. He steadily rose to his feet and sprinted towards Marceline, he fell to his knees and leaned over her.

"Marceline!" he said, listening for her heart through his magically healed eardrums. "…Please…"

He waited for what seemed like an eternity before his ears detected a faint 'bdum' in her tiny chest. He uttered a small exhalation of joy before putting his right hand on her forehead and tiling her head back. He pushed her jaw out with his thumb, opening her airway. He put his mouth over hers and pushed his breath into her saturated lungs. Simon watched as her chest rose and fell, hearing the hideous liquid rumble inside her lungs as it was jostled.

Sweat began to form on his brow as he repeated the action after waiting three seconds. "Come on…come on…"

He leaned over to breathe into her once more when an unsolicited twitch of her chest caught his eyes. A loud gurgle escaped her open mouth followed by a violent fit of coughing. Simon gasped happily and rolled her onto her side, careful to support her head as she evacuated the water from her lungs along with the contents of her stomach. Simon felt a tear run down his frigid cheek as Marceline's coughs and retches slowly gave way to ragged gasps and sputters. He rolled her back onto her back and examined her, she seemed to be only partially conscious and the color of her skin was different, a paler more alarming shade of grey. Her large red eyes fluttered open, they had a sleepy sort of half-lidded quality.

She locked a glazed stare on him and weakly tried to lift her arms. "…Daddy…"

"…He'll be back soon, Marcie," Simon said, grabbing her hand, it was alarmingly cold. "It's me, Simon."

She blinked and furrowed her brow, her voice hitching as she sobbed and reached out for a hug. "Daddy!"

Simon felt a lump form in his throat as he scooped her up into his arms. "I'm here, Marcie…Daddy's here."

* * *

Simon slowly plodded along the bottom of the alcove basin, the geology made a perfect shelter away from the tagging torrent of the flooded river, making it the perfect place to establish a shipping hub and, later, a mine field. He looked down at the wristband he had taken from Private Kaspbrak; it was some sort of safety measure that made it impossible for someone not wearing the band to fire the Grazer, it also doubled as a tracking device of sorts, albeit a rather ineffective one as this venture marked the fifth in 24 hours.

'_As far as tracking devices go…_" Simon thought to himself as a dead fish floated by his head. '_The 'hot-cold' method has to be the _worst _way to find something!_'

He held his arm out in several different directions. '_Hot…hot…oops, cold…hot…hotter…_'

Simon shuffled around wreckage, debris, and more dead fish. '_A lot of those about, huh? Come to think of it I don't think I've seen a single live fish the whole time! Then again, I haven't seen a whole lot of live anything for months now…blast it! Where is that accursed gun? It would have weighed down my backpack, so it shouldn't have gone far!_'

The water was an almost soupy mix of dust and organic debris; even with his new eyes the visibility was at best a meter all around. The ominous shapes of ships and aquatic hills rose around him like giants, looking up only brought the murky silhouettes of countless naval mines to bear. Spheres roughly a meter in diameter seemed to dangle from long metal chains, bobbing lightly in the surface currents brought by wind. The effect was disorienting, an eerie forest of death that jittered and shook as though hanging upside down. Simon shook his head and looked back down to his feet, ignoring the vertigo as it tried to take hold.

The little red light flashed more rapidly, he was getting closer. He hated to admit it, but he needed the grazer for protection. His ice powers were indeed potent, but he feared that continued use of them might somehow increase the crown's sway over him. The episodes were becoming less and less frequent now, usually striking only when he was fatigued or distracted. The crown was urging him to wear it more often than usual, whereas before it was whispering promises of power and glory, now it almost seemed annoyed or angry…even a little desperate. Donning the crown again would surely strengthen its hold on him and it knew it.

'_For now, it's losing ground…_' Simon smirked as he pulled the grazer from the mud, along with his backpack filled with supplies. '_And so long as I have someone to care for, it will never gain._"

Simon shouldered the backpack and began a slow ascent through the water.

* * *

The sun shone dimly through the ash-grey clouds that hung in the sky, the morning air was cold and dry. A tall, thin man with a snowy white beard rose from the placid water like a specter, hardly even breaking the calm that stretched across the sheltered alcove. With poise and dignity he evacuated the ballast from him stomach and lungs, not needing to breathe certainly had its benefits when plumbing the watery depths. He shuffled towards the shoreline that flooding had extended to Main Street of the abandoned tributary city they were occupying. Like several cities before, it had a total dearth of citizenry, it was yet another ghost town. Unlike the others, it was curiously unperturbed; where others bore signs of panic and looting, this town seemed to have simply stopped. Stores were empty but their windows unbroken, doors were barricade-free, and no cars had been flipped or stripped or burned in panic. It was almost as if the town's population had simply walked away, as one would from an unpleasant conversation. It was scenes like this that troubled him the most since apocalypses were, by and large, uniform in their devastation.

The nature of humans under mortal duress did not vary from town to town; patterns emerged wherever there were people and the threat of imminent death. First were the runners, people who fancied themselves astute and gathered up quick supplies and absconded to some imagined sanctuary. Second were the hiders and their barricades, made by the timid in the vain hope that simple timber and furniture would deter those just as desperate to live as they. Next, after the barricades had been smashed, were the looters who, in a display of brutal efficiency, not only free up food and supplies but also decreased the number of hungry mouths at large. After the looters came the scavengers, typically hiders that survived long enough to grow hungry. Looters and scavengers would almost invariably turn to the roads in search of new cities, hoping to find to the civilization that had so rudely abandoned them. Whereupon they would likely find the runners from before, now having long since become equally brutal and efficient bandits. The cruel effectiveness of this type of warfare was that it miraculously turned the victims on each other, all one needed to do was drop a bomb and watch the survivors tear each other apart. It was cruel and it was horrible, but it was almost comforting in its predictability. It was only when something broke this pattern that apathy and disgust gave way to paranoia and eventually terror.

Simon set foot on the dusty asphalt, his shoe squishing as water squirted out in all directions. Simon inhaled and closed his eyes, his hand becoming encased in blue energy and condensed vapor as the cold magic course through his body. He passed his hand over his body in a broad sweeping gesture. All the liquid in his cloths, hair, and on his skin was instantly pulled to the surface and frozen solid. Simon shook lightly and shattered the thin verglas that now covered his body. He was now completely dry. Simon did the same to his waterlogged backpack and all his supplies before resuming his trek to where he had left his young friend. The unusually clean and orderly nature of the city's death meant that several of the apartments and suites were in reasonable condition, the beds were clean and warm and the cupboards were surprisingly well stocked. Overall, it was certainly a comfortable place to leave her, but something about her condition worried Simon. Her demon blood should have restored her mere minutes after he had revived her, but by the time he had found a place for her to rest she was still weak and disorientated, complaining of a bad smell. He couldn't claim to be an expert on demon biology, but it still troubled him to see her so…vulnerable.

He walked into the lobby of a luxury hotel; everything was slightly askew in a way that suggested rapid relocation. The scene reminded Simon of when his mother first told him of Prypiat, a city in his motherland that had been evacuated rapidly following a sudden disaster. He was six at the time. A child possessed of intense curiosity and even then a budding penchant for research, little Simon quickly learned all there was to know about Prypiat. His reward for his diligent pursuit of intellectual fulfillment was a recurrence of vivid nightmares that only left him when he in turn left home.

Perhaps they simply stayed behind?

In his nightmares he would awaken in his bed to the dull silver light of an overcast day spilling in through the window. Everything would seem ordinary, but when he called out for his mother there would be no answer. Careful listening would reveal that there was no one in the house at all, no thuds or murmurs or even the scents-errant of a bygone meal. It was at this point in time little Simon realized how cold the air was, not a striking winter cold, but a dull sort that implied the simple absence of electric heating. He would always venture out into the hallway in his footie pajamas, calling out for his mother and father, and they would never respond. The living roomed looked, for lack of a better word, rumpled. Small things like styluses and computer tablets had been set down haphazardly, plates and glasses were still set out on the table and ingredients left out unused. Chairs were skewed away from the table and counters as though the occupant had suddenly shot to their feet. Further investigation revealed the same things again and again, ransacked cupboards, partially raided pantries, hastily acquired coats and shoes, and an open door left to swing on its hinges. They had bothered to take supplies, but not their son.

The dream always ended when he walked out into the street, the sharp cold wind of an early Ukrainian spring blew through his pajamas, only cold enough to make him shudder. Bicycles lay toppled, shopping bags jostled in the dull cold wind, toys had been left in the yards, and all the cars were gone. His nightmares never indulged in the traditional dénouement common amongst his peers; in this city, this silent city, no monsters lurked in the shadows, no bodies littered the streets, and no fire or smoke lapped at the perpetually overcast sky. The city was empty save for its sole occupant, and the only sound that could be heard, aside from the droning of wind against the buildings, was the increasingly plaintive and panicked cries of a frightened child. Other children had nightmares filled with screams and terror; Simon had nightmares that were filled with silence and dread.

"Marceline!" he called out, trying to put the dark thoughts out of his mind. "Are you awake, sweetheart?" There was a short bout of coughing followed by a groan. "Marceline?"

Simon entered the suite on the left and looked over at the bed, the electric lamp on the tableside emitted a light blue glow that cast the room in an almost ghostly contrast. Marceline lay in the bed, bundled up tightly as she rolled her head on the pillow. Simon walked over and kneeled beside the bed, he reached out and put a hand on her forehead. "Marcy, you're burning up!"

"Whuh?" she murmured, her bright red eyes half-lidded and hazy with fever. "But daddy said I couldn't get sick…"

"And I'm telling you that you have a fever," Simon said authoritatively. "You need fluids and lots of rest."

"No rest," she said as she tried to rise up to sit. "We gotta stop…the…bad guy…"

She wobbled and fell back into the bed, a fresh peal of coughing rattled out of her. Simon's brow furrowed as he opened up her nightie and put his ear to her chest.

"Nnnh!…Cold…" she said hazily.

"Breathe in," Simon said.

She breathed in, a fluid rumble emanated from within. Simon switched sides and told her to breathe in again before sitting back. "Pneumonia, both lungs."

"Izzat bad?" Marceline said quietly.

"…Yes, it's bad, Marcy," Simon said, unable to meet her eyes. "It means you have to rest, and I mean without interruption. It means we're not going anywhere for a while."

"But–" she began, visibly straining to focus her thoughts through the fog of fever.

"I know," Simon said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm not sure what to do."

"…Leave some food and…" she murmured, she was just barely maintaining coherence.

Simon shook his head and grabbed her hand, it was alarmingly warm. "I'll never leave you, Marcy."

"But you gotta…stop that…bomb, Simon," she said.

"I know," he said with a nod. "But–"

"No 'buts'!" Marceline said fiercely, rallying against the fever. "If we don't stop that bomb, the Lich'll get stronger and kill everyone! I don't want you to leave…but if that's what you have to do…then you gotta *cough-cough* stop–*cough* th–" Marceline shook as she loosed a fit deep rumbling coughs, her nose curling in disgust when she stopped. "Uuugh…bad…"

Simon sighed and shrugged. "I won't leave you Marceline, and that's final…if I could find some way to bring you with me…I'll be right back, okay?"

Marceline nodded and pulled the blankets back over herself.

* * *

Simon grunted as he kicked open the door to a large hardware store, he activated his enhanced sight to pry into the darkness. His flashlight's isomer battery had a projected life of a little over a decade, but caution always got the better of him. He trekked through the isles; this store bore the unsettling signs of minimal looting, yet another reminder of the bizarre disaster that struck this town, whatever it was. He saw what he was looking for, a four-wheeled cart with leaf-spring suspension and a one-meter by fifty-centimeter basin. The advertisement display spoke of stability, he recalled seeing commercials for it where people would put a wine glass in the basin and then run over some rough terrain only to find that the wine glass was more or less undisturbed afterwards. Simon grinned and pulled the wagon from the display module, it was perfect. An impossibly grotesque creature phased out of the bottom of the wagon, vermiform tendrils clumped together in a writhing pseudo-body poxed with inflating and deflating ochre eyes. It opened one of its many mouths and oozed a black tar-like substance. Simon exclaimed in surprise and leapt back. The two stared at one another for a moment, a pregnant silence filling the room. Simon leaned forward and, ever so slowly, aimed a clumsy swat at the pocket-shoggoth. His hand phased through it without so much as a wisp or indication that it existed at all, the creature simply wriggled in the wagon and ejected a magenta cloud of star-like gas before seeping back into the floor. Simon looked around, there were similarly bizarre creatures flitting through the darkness.

"So I can't touch you," Simon mused aloud. "Nor you me. At least there's that."

A small creature sporting a pair of bat-wings with two faces on either end of its oblong body set down on his shoulder. It made brief eye contact with Simon before vomiting an oleaginous liquid onto his shoes. "…Welp, that's enough of that."

Simon exited the hardware store with the wagon and continued down the street, searching for residential areas that looked like they could have the supplies he was looking for. He examined a car, opening its door and crawling inside. He briefly considered hotwiring the car, but put it out of his mind just as quickly, modern cars were almost impossible to hotwire due to their sophisticated owner identification systems. Not that any of that mattered, for it was those very systems that meant the car was inoperable even if he could bypass them, the EMP from the bombs would have easily fried the delicate electronics of such advanced machinery, only very basic or military grade machines still worked. Simon sighed and examined the car, it was the sort of thing he'd have turned to watch as it drove down the street, but now it was just a useless hunk of metal.

Simon noticed a bundle of paper maps stuffed into the glove compartment. "Well, not entirely useless…"

He exited the car and continued to walk down the road when a small chirring sound drew his attention; it was the unpleasant little creature again, this time perched on a newsbox. Simon rolled his eyes and resumed his walk down the street. A small glob pinkish translucent mung splattered on his shoes, he didn't feel it impact nor did it seem to actually effect his shoes, but it was a sufficient action to redirect his attention. Simon stormed over to the news box, picking up rocks and pieces of asphalt as he did.

"Didn't you mother ever tell you…?" Simon growled, winding up a wiry arm. "…That it's rude to spit?!"

He hurled a fist-sized chunk of asphalt at the creature, it stared at him placidly as the missile phased through it and dented the paneling of the kiosk on which it sat. Simon rushed forward and kicked his foot out at the creature. The kiosk shuddered with the impact, the creature's head phased through his foot and continued to stare at him. Simon stopped and glowered at the spirit, the beast simply continued to gaze at him as it phased into the kiosk. Simon blinked as the hard-light notices posted on the kiosk suddenly became apparent.

Simon leaned in and read the largest notice. His white eyes went wide and he gasped. He quickly spun around and sprinted down the street, clumsily dragging the wagon behind him. The notice's blinking red headline still flashed its warning:

SEVERE FALLOUT WARNING: ALL CITIZENS ARE HEREBY ADVISED TO EVACUATE TO THE FALLOUT SHELTERS ACROSS THE RIVER BY 15:00 HOURS.

* * *

Simon burst into the hotel and scrambled for the suite. "Marceline?"

There was no answer; Marceline was asleep in the bed, Hambo in her arms.

Simon dragged the wagon into the suite and parked it next to her. He put a hand over her forehead, she was hot to the touch and her cheeks were flushed with fever. Her breathing had taken on a low croupy rumble; she was getting worse every second she was here. He ran out of the room and into the laundry pantry, he picked up large handfuls of clean sheets and blankets and ran back to the room, he folded them up and neatly lined the inside of the wagon with soft fabric. He turned to the sleeping child, first tucking the warm blanket in around her before gingerly picking her up.

"Simon…?" Marceline muttered sleepily. "Wuz rong?"

"Nothing Marcy," he lied hoarsely. "Go back to sleep, I'm gonna try and get us across the bridge. I found a map that said it's not too far from here."

"Kay," she said quietly.

Simon rushed out of the hotel, carefully rolling the wagon over the curb so not to disturb its occupant. He proceeded to tie the wagon to his waist and pulled out the map. The complex lattice of roads and alleys a simple feat for his experienced eyes and finely honed sense of direction. Simon stuffed the map into his jacket pocket and started down the road, his strides were long and powerful but carefully paced, he now knew better than to cause unnecessary strain so long as the crown on the prowl. Simon pulled the wagon through the city; once again the relatively pristine nature of it caused him increasingly acute consternation, if anything was to go wrong he figured that now would be the time.

"I almost wish something would happen," he muttered, "…just to get it over with."

As the two companions drew closer to the bridge, Simon began to notice something terribly wrong. All the way up to the innocuous middle-town roads there were cars parked end to end, Simon found himself actively fighting the urge to look inside them.

To no avail.

'_I just have to know what happened to these…_' he began as he peered into a nearby sedan. '…_People?_'

The car was empty. There were no bodies, no signs of violence, nothing. Just like their city, these people had apparently left their cars and all their belongings behind without so much as a mote of panic. Simon felt a sudden and nigh-uncontrollable urge to put his fist clean through the car window; he found it unbearable, not knowing. He continued down the road, looking into every car and finding nothing.

"Mommy…" Marceline murmured from the wagon. "Why's the…why…"

Simon felt a pang of desperation in his gut, just how radioactive was this place to be affecting her in such a way?

'_S̸h́e's̷ t̷ou̸g̀h̴ Pe͝t͞ŕik͟ov͏,͜_' an all too familiar voice whispered. '_T̸h͠e҉ wa̴t̸e̶r ̷in ͜the ̧b̶asi̶n,̛ ͞i̸t͠ ͡w̶a̕s̶ irrąd͞i̷ated̕ to̡ǫ.͟ ͞Wit͟h rad͝i͘o̸a͞c͘t͞iv͏e ̀w̴a͟te̵r i͟ņ ̧ḩȩr ͜lu̡ng͏s and ͘s̶lee͏p̧ing̢ in ̀a̛n͢ ̸ir̕radia̵ted̴ ͏to͟wn, ̶it͘'s͏ no҉ ͘w͡o͝nder ̛t͞ha̷t̀ she's s͠ick͏.҉ ̀H̨er̕ ͞bod̨y͡'̛s͢ ̶b͞u͠rníng̕ ̶th͟r͏o̢u̧gh ̵all i̧t͟s ene͟rgỳ ͜to͠ ͞ḱe͘ep͝ h͞e͝r cel͟ls ̶f̴r̛om̨ ͠f҉al͘l͏ing apart, th̷ere̷'s͟ n̕oţhin҉g͢ l͡ef̧t̷ ̛to fight t̛he͏ bac̨ter͜i҉a͢ ͞with!͏_'

"You sound in good spirits," Simon grumbled.

'̷_Oh,̴ ҉Ì ̴a̡m,_͞' the crown said, a sort of babbling susurrus invading his mind like muffled laughter. '̛_W̕an҉t̷ t͝o k̀no̡w w̡hy̡?_'

"Not particularly," he said flatly.

The crown ignored his dismissive attitude and continued. '̷_I̛'m ҉happy,̡ ͏beća͡usę ͘tod̀ay͞ ̀is̴ ͟t̴he͢ da̵y͡ yo͠u̸ ͝p̵ut th͜e̸ ͜cro̢wn ̵o͞n ag̴a͡i҉n͏._'

"Yeah?" Simon retorted. "And what makes you think that?"

'̀_Oh̕,̷ no҉th̷ing…_'

Simon turned the corner, his eyes widening in horror. Where the proud tall bridge once stood, wreathed in a fog otherwise impenetrable, was twisted pile of smoldering wreckage. Enormous metal beams jutted out from obliterated concrete, suspension cables as thick as redwoods lay strewn about the collapsed heap of debris. The bridge had been bombed into oblivion.

'͝_Ju͢st ͜that͜.͝'_

Simon spun around and looked at Marceline, a cold sweat beginning to form on his brow. "I'll get her out of here some other way!"

'̛_O͡n ͜f̶oot?͏ You d̶o͏n'̕t́ kn͠o͝w͡ ͞ţhe ̶e̡xtent ͡o̴f́ ̸t̕he f͠a͘l͟l͟ou͡t̶,̀ ͟co̢ul͏d ̛tak̛e͡ dày͠s,_" the crown said flintily, Marceline coughed a low wheezing cough. '̢_Day͠s͜ ͘sh̢e ma͘y not̡ ha̵v͠e͠…_̵'

"A car–"

'_A wreck,_͢' the crown finished. '_W̶ǫrse̴ ͞th́a̴n̛ úséle̵s̵s. Y͠o̧u̡'͞d ̡havȩ ́t̸o ͏find a vint̷ag͜e mac̕h͘ine ͡t̀o b̕yp҉a͞ss͞ t͠h̕e͘ ͞e̷ffe̛ct̷s͡ ǫf ̨t̸h̨is̴ ́ef̶f͠ici͞en͠t waŗ.̡ N͜one͝ ̨i̧n̶ ͘t͜hi͏s̴ li̷ne͟ ̡u͞p, ͟yoù could ͠l͢ook̢ i҉f y͜o̸ų want to͘ wa̧st҉e͞ mor̸ę ͏ti̴me̡…_'

Simon gritted his teeth and shook his head. "No! I won't put it on!"

'_T́içk̕-t̕ock,͏ ̵t҉ick҉-̧t͜ǫck.̷_'

"I won't!"

'_Not̸ ̢eve҉n̸ to ̡sav̸e ḩe͘r͜ ͢lif̴e͜?_' the crown said in a sardonically sentimental tone. '̛_W̶hy̛, M͘r̵. ͞Pe̢tri҉ko̷v͘, I̵ ́be̴lie͜ve I͟ ͏m̴ay ha͞ve mi̶s̷j͜u̧dged̡ ̴you. ̕You͏ ͘m̧ay̴ ac̶tua͝l͞ly ҉h̵ave̶ ̀w͘hat̡ it̷ t̕a͘k͢e̛s t̢o ̶su͢r͘viv͏e wit̶h͠out th̛e͘ c̷row͏n̨!_'

Simon buried his head in his hands, a small sob escaping his mouth. "No…please no…I can't…I can't lose her. She's everything I've got."

"Who're you talking to?" a small, somewhat clotted voice said "Are those men in the funny hats after mommy again?"

Simon slowly rose to his feet and rubbed the tears from his eyes. "Nuh-no Marcie…all the bad men are gone. You sleep now, okay?"

"It's so dark…" she said dozily. "Sing me a song, daddy?"

"I'll sing you a song, darling," Simon said, reaching down to the crown.

"Rise up this mornin',  
Smiled with the risin' sun,  
Three little birds  
Pitch by my doorstep  
Singin' sweet songs  
Of melodies pure and true,  
Sayin'…"

Simon's mind became awash with a cold burning sensation, as though a blizzard had set down inside his head. The crown's voice emanated from the algid static, it's voice on his lips "D̛on͞'t͠ ̡worry̵ ̡'̶b͝o̕ut͞ ͞a̵ ̵t͘h̛in͠g̀."


End file.
